


Urbs Equidem

by shut_the_jongup



Series: Ad Urbs [1]
Category: B.A.P
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dystopia, Explicit Language, Fantasy, Far Future, Friendship/Love, Gen, Injury, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shut_the_jongup/pseuds/shut_the_jongup
Summary: Jongup is taken from his home and brought to the underground city of Urbs Equidem to be used for his magic. Finding himself weak and only barely conscious, he doesn't think he'll ever make it back out.But when he catches the attention of Junhong and Yongguk, workers who don't know a thing of the world above the city, he finds himself free again. On the run, he must make it back to the surface before his captor finds him.





	1. Preface

_AD URBS_ Part I: Urbs Equidem

* * *

 

  **Preface**

**August 20 th, 5690**

“Welcome to the Greater Northern District, home to our largest electrical company here in Urbs Equidem: Power Direct. Population: three point nine thousand. Our main export is electricity. You will live comfortably here.”

            “Wow, haven’t heard that before,” Daehyun said, throwing his bag over his shoulder as he hopped off the bus and onto the terminal. “Fresh start this, happiness that,” he grumbled. “Bullshi––”

            “Always so negative,” Youngjae chided as he emerged from the bus behind him and placed his suitcase on the ground by his feet.

            “Well I don’t see you negating anything I say, Mister Optimistic.” Daehyun folded his arms across his chest.

            “Come on,” Youngjae tugged on his arm, ending the banter. “We need to pick up our residential forms, and then go straight to the apartment.”

            “What’s got you all excited?” Daehyun asked, following Youngjae as he crossed the street.

            Youngjae stopped and turned to look at him. “Daehyun, how many times have I told you by now? This is a huge deal! The fact that I landed this job alone is a fucking miracle, and you just keep bringing me down with this cynical shit! When was the last time we slept in a real house, on real beds, with warm clothes?” His voice quieted, and he pulled Daehyun closer to him. “I know this place hasn’t treated you well,” he said, and Daehyun scoffed, pulling back. “But this job could really turn things around for us,” Youngjae said, and patted his arm.

            “I’m aware,” Daehyun snapped back, and he bit his tongue when Youngjae frowned. “Look,” he said, voice dropping. “I’m sorry. It’s just that––”

            “No, no,” Youngjae interrupted. “You have every right,” he said. “You’ve been screwed over one too many times.”

            They continue to walk in silence. It only takes ten minutes to reach the establishment they’ve been assigned, though of course it looks just like all the other buildings around: three stories tall, built up with bricks and cement. The roofs were flat, thin slabs of stone.

            “Which number are we?” Daehyun asked as they wandered along the sidewalk.

            “E-113,” Youngjae answered, eyes trained on following the letters carved beside every entrance. “This row is A through F, so we’ll be closer to the middle of the block.”

            “Lucky us, being on the first floor,” Daehyun said sarcastically. “We’ll get a front door this time.”

            Youngjae nodded absently. “Ah, section E starts here.” He led Daehyun past the front door that would soon be theirs and into the main lobby. The room was small, empty, and dark, except for a dim light that flickered on the ceiling, illuminating the machine that would give them their keys.

            “Nice place,” Daehyun said dryly, and Youngjae scoffed, pulling his ID papers from his bag and motioning for Daehyun to do the same.

            Going through customs was easy. They scanned their IDs and fingerprints, and the machine spat two keys out at them.

            “Don’t lose yours this time,” Youngjae said as he scooped up the keys and tossed one to Daehyun.

            “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry about that?” Daehyun latched onto Youngjae’s arm. “C’mon, I wanna sleep,” he complained, dragging him down the hall to find their place.

            “No sleeping yet,” Youngjae said. “We start work tomorrow, and it’s only––” he checked his watch “––six o’clock.”

            “But I’m tired,” Daehyun whined as Youngjae attempted to fit his key into the lock.

            “I’m just saying.” Youngjae jiggled the key a few times before it turned in the lock, and the door swung open. “I won’t stop you if you want to screw up your sleep schedule, but if you take a nap now, you won’t be able to fall asleep later.”

            Daehyun sighed and threw his bag onto the tiny kitchen table. “Do you have any food?”

            “No. We’ll have to go shopping tonight.”

            Daehyun sat down next to his bag with a groan, the chair beneath him squeaking ominously. “I have, like, six coins.”

            “Wow, we could get a whole carrot with that,” Youngjae said airily as he wandered out of the kitchen.

            “Well, how much do you have, then?” Daehyun called after him. There was a short pause.

            “Fifteen…”

            Daehyun sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess we’ll be having potatoes again.”


	2. Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junhong glanced from door to door, wandering further down the hallway. The doors were all dark, save for one at the very end of the hall, tucked into the corner. There was a sign screwed into the metal that read: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. OTHERWISE ENTRY RESTRICTED.  
> It was pushed slightly ajar, stale light flooding onto the pale floor. Junhong crept closer, sticking to the wall. Maybe he could get a look inside.

**Chapter One**

ground

/ɡraʊnd/

_noun_

the solid surface of the earth

* * *

 

       “Himchan! C’mon, we’re gonna be late for work!”

       “I’m coming,” Himchan called, tripping down the stairs while trying to pull his boots on. “Sorry,” he said when he met Junhong in the foyer, tugging his jacket off a hook and shrugging it on as he was pushed out the door and onto the sidewalk, dim and only lit with by old, creaking street lamps.

       “Did you eat?” Junhong shoved his hands in his pockets and sped ahead of him, looking back to make sure Himchan was following him.

       Himchan huffed and jogged to catch up. “When was the last time either of us had a proper breakfast?” he grumbled, taking the small package of processed prunes that Junhong had pulled from his pocket and offered to him.

       The streets were dark and crammed with people as usual, trains and buses speeding past. The people of the Upper Center District mostly worked in engineering, and, thus, the central districts of Urbs Equidem were mainly functional as the power plants for the city. Buildings squeezed not-so-sparingly into the tight space loomed, and sometimes Himchan found himself wondering what would happen if the ceiling of the giant bunker were to collapse on them. Would the buildings be strong enough to shelter the people? Likely not. Then again, Himchan had no idea what was really above the ceiling. Maybe nothing? Maybe another closed off area? Did people live up there?

       Sometimes the massive, dull yellow light fixtures attached to the ceiling swayed and shook. Sometimes the ground rumbled and moved beneath them. Most people paid it no mind, but Himchan still remembered the first time he had to bring Junhong down from a panic attack in the basement of their apartment, only three weeks after he had moved in with Himchan.

       The living spaces were lined up like blocks, but uneven. The housing in the central districts was the oldest of the architecture in Equidem, and sometimes when the trains went by behind them, the structure would shake and dust would fall, chasing Junhong back into the basement late at night, where he would pull his knees to his chest and try to reassure himself that he wasn’t going to suffocate down there.

 

       Despite the late start, they managed to catch the train that would shuttle them to the factory where they worked, Himchan as maintenance and Junhong in engineering.

       When Junhong had been assigned his career path at graduation, he had been shocked; usually people had to spend years working their way up to the title of an engineer, just as Himchan had been and was still doing his entire life. He had been convinced some sort of mistake had been made, but when he addressed his concerns with the director of his school, he had simply been waved off and handed a manila envelope containing his new housing assignment.

       He didn’t know that he was simply filling an empty space, left by Himchan’s first housemate. They had been told there was an accident at the factory.

 

       As usual, there was no room to sit in the train, so both Himchan and Junhong stood, squished against each other uncomfortably, in the middle of the car.

       At the fifth stop, a line of workers streamed out, Junhong and Himchan falling in line and filing with the others into the building. They would be brought through the main lobby to have their fingers scanned before being allowed to proceed further inside. It took only minutes for Himchan to reach the desk, and he pressed his index finger to the scanner, which beeped and flashed a green light. He didn’t look at the receptionist sitting on the other side, a man named Bang Yongguk––he lived in one of the higher-up, more domestic areas on the opposite side of the city––just waited for the go ahead, and when it was given, he pushed through the doors and made his way down the hall and into his section.

       Junhong watched as Himchan disappeared, then stepped forward and pressed his finger to the machine. It beeped in approval, but the receptionist stopped him. “Choi Junhong,” he spoke softly, typing at a keyboard swiftly. Junhong waited. It wasn’t unusual to receive special assignments on occasion in the morning. Oftentimes, random employees would be selected to make deliveries or complete other small tasks before beginning their regular schedule.

       The fax machine beside the receptionist’s computer creaked and spat out a stack of papers, which was grabbed swiftly and shoved into a folder. Junhong’s eyes flicked over the man at the desk. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes. He watched as nimble fingers pressed and smoothed an already-marked sticker to the front of the folder, and held it out to him. “You have been assigned to deliver these files to floor eight, office 876,” he said. Junhong nodded and took the folder.

       “Once completed, immediately return to your station.” Yongguk sounded more tired than usual.

       Junhong nodded and proceeded through the doors, making his way to the elevator. Office 876 was the boss’s office. Junhong looked down at the tanned folder in his hands as he walked. These must be important. He wondered if they might contain information on the new generator.

       The doors of the elevator slid shut behind him, and Junhong leaned back against the wall, tapping the button that would take him to the eighth floor. The employees hadn’t been told much about the new generator. Only that it was “revolutionary”, “incredibly efficient”, and that it produced “absolutely no waste!” Junhong thought it was pretty sketchy, if he was being honest, but he was used the company pulling things like that. Though, it was noticeable how much brighter all the lights were, though; how much faster appliances like indoor heating and telephones were working, how quickly energy had started traveling from district to district within just the past few days. Junhong figured whatever it was, it had to be something big. Something powerful.

       It was rather worrisome, too, though––what if this generator was so effective that the company wouldn’t need so many workers anymore? Junhong knew that engineers like himself were valuable, so he figured would be okay, but it was Himchan he worried about. There were a lot of workers on the maintenance staff.

       Junhong bit his lip, shifting the weight of the folder from hand to hand, glancing down at the bright, rectangular, yellow sticker on the front. CLASSIFIED, it read. He lifted the flap of the folder, then slapped it shut. No, he shouldn’t. But… he could just check… maybe get a sneak peek at a diagram or photo of the new machinery? That couldn’t hurt, right? He knew there weren’t any cameras in the elevators…

       The elevator continued to creep up slowly, beeping as it passed through the fourth floor. Junhong licked his lips and flipped open the folder. At the top rested a sheet of paper with a graph printed on it. He scanned the information. It was a demographic of the monthly energy output. The line spiked in a growth spurt above a date marked just a few days ago, and it seemed to only be rising, so far.

       There was another beep. That was the fifth floor. He lifted the graph and sifted through the papers. They were mostly just statistics. The only thing that was abnormal was just how much the energy output had grown over the past week. With the technology Junhong had knowledge of, that couldn’t be possible, so he figured it must be something totally new, probably developed in secret. Or a lie.

       But why would something so successful be kept a secret?

       Skimming through the files, Junhong couldn’t find a single statement that addressed the new generator. He frowned. How could there be nothing, even in these classified papers? No written descriptions, no blueprints, nothing. The boss must have really wanted to keep this a secret. But didn’t the employees need to know what is was they were working on? Something just wasn’t adding up.

       The elevator came to a jolting stop, and the light on the ceiling flickered for a moment before the door slid open. Junhong stepped into the hallway carefully, walking as though the ground was a minefield. He had never actually been on the eighth floor before. It was different from the rest of the building. Everything was a bright, pristine shade of white that Junhong didn’t think he’d ever seen before. It was plain, and the hall was almost eerily quiet, the sound of whirring machines just a whisper. He rapped his knuckles smoothly on the door of office 876, and a low, gruff voice granted him entrance.

       Junhong pulled the door shut behind him, and the man at the desk spun around in his chair, from where he had been staring out the window, and narrowed his eyes at Junhong as he folded his hands in his lap.

       “What are you doing here?” he asked slowly, tension and suspicion obvious in his voice. His eyes shot to the folder in Junhong’s hand and he raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes were squinty and narrow. A nice, black suit fit around his shoulders loosely, accompanied by a blue-striped tie and a crisp white dress shirt. The name on the plate resting on the desk read Kim Hyunshik. The man tapped his foot impatiently as Junhong approached the desk.

       “I-I was sent to deliver these to you,” he said, voice coming out meekly beneath the burning gaze of his boss.

       The folder was snatched out of his hands and slammed onto the shiny metal of the desk harshly, making Junhong cringe ever so slightly. Kim opened the folder, and Junhong felt his stomach turn at the greedy grin that took over his face.

       “Very nice,” Kim mumbled to himself, flipping through the papers. He seemed to have forgotten Junhong was there. “He seems to truly be a source of infinite energy…”

       Junhong’s eyebrows drew together. He? How could a power generator have a gender?

       There was a sudden, shrill scream, and Junhong’s head shot up, meeting Kim’s gaze, which looked rather calm.

       “What was that?”

       “Oh, don’t worry,” Kim said, leaning back in his chair. “People get their fingers caught in the machines all the time.” He spoke as if trying to soothe Junhong, only to raise his suspicions. Something was going on.

       “You may go.”

       Junhong bolted, speed-walking out of the office, being sure to shut the door behind him, and down the hall. That scream. It was one of suffering, he could tell. Nobody ever worked hand-to-hand with machines while they were running; Junhong had never witnessed somebody catching even a strand of hair in one. Thoroughly spooked, he made for the elevator and pushed the down button.

       There was another shriek as the elevator slowly made its way back up from the first floor. The voice seemed closer. Junhong glanced from door to door, wandering further down the hallway. The doors were all dark, save for one at the very end of the hall, tucked into the corner. There was a sign screwed into the metal that read: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. OTHERWISE ENTRY RESTRICTED.  
       It was pushed slightly ajar, stale light flooding onto the pale floor. Junhong crept closer, sticking to the wall. Maybe he could get a look inside.

      There was another cry as Junhong pressed himself into the wall opposite the door, sliding further down. It sounded muffled, as though being shouted through a wall of glass, or behind a door, or something. The sound of something slamming on hard plastic cut it off abruptly.

       “Shut up!” somebody yelled, annoyed, from inside the room.

       Junhong backed up. He should leave.

       “God, gonna drive me insane,” they said. Junhong could still hear little whimpers, remnants of the screams from before. They seemed to occur periodically, like shocks. Someone was being hurt behind that door. After a few minutes of internal debating, Junhong found himself stepping forward, preparing to pull open the door and stop whoever was harming this person, but a hand caught his shoulder. His eyes shot wide in surprise, and he turned around, only to come face to face with his housemate.

       “Himchan! What are you doing here?”

       “Finding you!” Himchan hissed, grabbing Junhong’s wrist and dragging him back towards the elevator.

       Junhong pulled back. “What? Why! You’re supposed to be working! God, if somebody finds out you snuck up here––”

       “I’m not working anymore.” Himchan punched the button on the wall, and the elevator’s doors opened.

       Junhong’s face paled. “W-what? What do you mean you’re not––”

       “I mean they gave me the pink slip is what I mean, Junhong.”

       They stepped into the elevator, and Junhong bit his lip.

       “They don’t need me anymore,” Himchan mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Told me to get my stuff and leave.”

       “Himchan, I…” Junhong trailed off, suddenly remembering the cries from before. They had stopped just moments before Himchan had grabbed his shoulder.

       “It’s all thanks to that stupid new generator,” Himchan interrupted, growling. The elevator stopped with a heavy thunk on the first floor, and the two of them stepped out.

       Himchan sighed, and turned to face Junhong. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself as soon as he got a good look at him. “Whoa, you don’t look too good,” he said, pulling Junhong to a set of chairs in the lobby and pushing him into one. “Are you alright? What happened?”

       Junhong swallowed dryly. “I think…”

       Himchan rose a brow.

       “I…” Junhong glanced around. There were a few people here and there, mingling with cups of coffee, spreading morning chatter, and Yongguk was still seated at the receptionist’s desk. He was looking at them curiously. When he caught Junhong’s gaze, he turned back to the screen in front of him.

       “I’m fine.”

       Himchan didn’t look convinced.

       “Okay, yeah, I’m not fine. I’ll tell you at home,” Junhong promised, and he gave his hand a squeeze.

 

       “Are you satisfied with this week’s stats report, Mr. Kim?” Youngjae stood next to the console, hands clenched tightly, nervously, together in front of him. Kim circled the metal and plastic enclosure in the middle of the room. The structure was only about waist-level height, but nearly six feet in length. Long enough to hold a person inside.

       “Yes, quite,” Kim answered, peering over the side, at a shadowed, still figure. Strands of wires were connected and strung from the capsule to a larger, more complex looking machine that ran along the side of the room. “With this machine, we will be able to maximize profits,” he said, straightening back up and turning to face Youngjae.

       “However, there is a problem.”

       Youngjae gulped. Had he forgotten something? He walked himself back through the list of tasks he had been assigned that morning.

       “It is too loud,” Kim explained. “I don’t want any of the workers getting suspicious. The last thing we need is a complication of that sort.”

       “I understand,” Youngjae said, breathing a sigh of relief and hoping Kim hadn’t noticed his nervousness. “The extraction process seems to cause him immense pain. Should we put a gag on him?”

       “No. That wouldn't be enough.” Kim rounded the container and stepped closer to Youngjae to speak instructions quietly into his ear.

       “What?” Youngjae’s eyes grew wide. “But…” he protested. "It's––I mean, that’s––"

       Kim snorted. “What does that matter?” He gestured to the setup in front of them. “It’s not like he’s even human.”

       Youngjae licked his chapped lips.

       “If you aren't comfortable, of course, I could always put somebody else in charge of the project.” Kim continued.

       “I–I suppose you're right, sir,” Youngjae stuttered out. "I'm sorry. It will be done as soon as possible."

       Kim turned and nodded, making his way to the door. He paused before stepping out, and looked back.

       “I would like to see the procedure completed by morning, before nine.” Kim pulled the door closed behind him.

       Youngjae gulped, looking back at the sleeping figure of the boy as soon as the door was shut, and he pulled out his pager.

       “Daehyun? Yes, I know, it’s late.”

       “No, that’s not why, you idiot. I need you to come into work tonight.”

       “One hour.”

       “No.” Youngjae bit his lip and rested a hand on the plastic of the case in front of him. The boy looked much more peaceful as he slept, but his discomfort remained obvious, in the way his expression stayed twisted up, sweat still beading on his face. Youngjae’s heart ached. “Bring your kit, and make sure you have some anesthetics. I'll give you the details when you get here. The generator room.”

 

       Himchan let himself fall backwards onto his bed. Losing a job in Equidem was practically the equivalent of a death sentence. It was damn-near impossible to find a new one, because there were already overpopulation issues, so every spot was filled. No job meant no income, and no income meant no house, no food, and no food meant death––and Himchan wasn’t about to let Junhong pour all his money into him. Their rent was already steep enough, much more than the cramped, three-room block of a house was worth.

       Himchan wasn’t stupid; he knew that something must’ve happened to get a reaction like what he had seen that morning out of the kid. Junhong was always composed at work, so of course Himchan was worried, having seen such a rise from him.

       The clock on his night table read 5:10PM. Not a minute later, Himchan heard the front door being shoved open, a boot kicking the bottom right corner heavily where the metal liked to stick.

       There was a loud, exhausted sigh from the kitchen, followed by the clunk of the cabinet falling closed and the squeaky turn of the tap. Himchan pictured Junhong leaning heavily against the counter with a glass of water in his hand, eyes closed and steadying his breath like he always did when they came home after a long day at work.

       Himchan had been stewing for hours over what had happened that morning. Junhong had looked utterly terrified when Himchan pulled him into the elevator with him. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary, though; maybe seeing the boss had just freaked him out? Most people never saw his face.

       But, of course, there was also the issue with Himchan being laid off. He just couldn’t decide what to dwell on, couldn’t choose what he wanted to drink to forget. He had to remind himself that Junhong came first.

       “Himchan?” His voice was soft when he entered the bedroom. It was dark inside. The curtains were drawn, and Himchan hadn’t bothered with the light. He planned to turn in early that night, anyway.

       Junhong sat down gently at the end of Himchan’s bed, near his feet. He placed a hand on his shin, trying to be reassuring. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Himchan interrupted him, wishing to put off the discussion of his current predicament for as long as he possibly could.

       “Are you okay?”

       “I’m going to break into HQ.”

       Himchan’s jaw dropped.

       Junhong gently placed his cup on the nightstand, but the noise of it meeting the wood roared in Himchan’s ears.

       “Sorry, I think I just hallucinated.” Himchan shook his head back and forth. “What did you say?”

       “Tonight. After dinner,” Junhong added as an afterthought, as though he was deciding what to eat for lunch on a Saturday afternoon.

       Himchan did not respond.

       “At second glance, I don’t think I should have started with that,” Junhong said, cocking his head to side as if he hadn’t just suggested a good way to get himself killed.

       “What do you  _mean_ you’re… going to  _break in?”_ Himchan collected himself and met Junhong’s gaze evenly. He spoke quietly, as if someone might be listening in on their conversation. Which, to be honest, wasn’t too far from plausible.

       “Exactly what it sounds like.”

       “Um, no. No.” Himchan sat up straight when he realized Junhong was being serious. “No, you’re not.” He raised his voice. “What the hell are you on about?”

       “You remember earlier? Upstairs?”

       Himchan didn’t move. “Of course. Is this––”

       “Because of that? Yeah.”

       There was a brief moment of silence before Himchan spoke up again.

       “What were you doing up there?”

       “Delivering files to––”

       “After that,” he interrupted.

       Junhong hesitated, swallowing thickly.

       “I heard something,” he said slowly, and Himchan raised his eyebrows, silently asking him to continue.

       “Somebody was screaming. Kim tried to brush it off; something about people getting fingers stuck in machines or whatever… but it was too periodic, too patterned, and it wasn’t stopping.” Junhong paused to take a breath and a sip of water. “So, I followed the sound, and then you showed up.”

       “I didn’t hear any screaming,” Himchan said, folding his arms across his chest.

       “It conveniently stopped right when you got there,” Junhong grumbled, mirroring his position.

      Himchan sat back with a heavy sigh. “Look, Junhong, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said, “I just… maybe Kim was right.” He shrugged, and Junhong immediately shook his head.

       “Himchan, I think…” he bit his lip. “I think the new generator is sucking energy from a person.”

       “What? What do you mean  _sucking energy from a person?_ That’s not––that’s not possible. You’re an engineer, aren’t you? Don’t you know how that works? You can’t do that!”

       Junhong’s frown deepened, and his eyebrows drew together. “I saw those reports, Himchan. This is no joke.”

       “You looked at the files, too!” Himchan’s hand landed on his forehead and he leaned backwards until his back hit the wall. “That’s  _treason,_ Junhong!”

       “Yes, I looked at the files,” Junhong hissed. “And I saw  _impossible_ demographics.”

      “…what do you mean?” Himchan lowered his voice.

      “This generator has only been operational for a week, right?”

       Himchan nodded.

       “Well, within the past five days, the company has produced over  _double_  the amount it has within the past  _two months.”_

       Himchan’s mouth dropped open. “That’s––”

       “Impossible?”

       He chewed his lip for a moment. “So, you think…”

      “Kim also referred to the generator as ‘he’ if that makes a more convincing case,” Junhong said.

       Himchan shook his head. “Even if… even if that  _is_ what’s going on, you’re not meddling in it.”

       “But––”

       “No. I won’t let you.” As much as Himchan hated being stern with him, that was just too risky. It was dumb! He didn’t even know for sure if someone was getting hurt. “I can’t let you risk your job, not to mention your life, over something that’s probably nothing!”

       “You don’t believe me, do you?” Junhong’s voice hardened.

       “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Himchan said. “It’s… I just don't think you should be getting yourself involved.”

       “Why not?” Junhong challenged.

       “Because it isn’t your responsibility.”

       “And what is my responsibility, then?”

       “Working as an engineer in the company, doing as you’re told!” Himchan raised his voice and got to his feet. “If you go there, and you get caught, you will lose your job, and be sentenced to jail time. They might even put you on death row! You can’t go!”

       “Risking my life is worth saving another!” Junhong stood up to face Himchan. “I don’t care how small the chances are,” he said quietly.

       Himchan looked startled at the outburst, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

       “No way, you’re not going.”

       Junhong looked away, but kept his head up. He knew it was no use arguing once Himchan had made up his mind. He pushed past him and made his way to the hallway.

       “Fine,” he said, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him.

       Only ten minutes later, Himchan joined him in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher they kept in the fridge.

       “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning on the counter next to Junhong, who was gazing out the tiny, rectangular window above the sink.

       “It’s fine,” Junhong said. He took a sip from his glass.

       “No, really, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I really feel terrible,” he laughed dryly, and Junhong turned to look at him.

       “It’s okay, really, Himchan.” He emptied his glass and placed it in the sink. “I was being irrational. I’m going to sleep.” He turned and walked into the hallway before pausing, and leaning back into the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I won’t be going anywhere.”


	3. Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are hurting––no, you are killing an innocent person,” Yongguk shot back.  
> “I am doing my job,” Youngjae seethed, his grip tightening on the door handle he was still clutching. “Look. I’ll give you and… this kid… a chance to leave and forget this ever happened.”  
> Yongguk rolled his jaw, but before he could speak, the other man, whom he recognized as Jung Daehyun, one of the company’s on-site medics, let out a yelp, and fell to the ground. Junhong stood over him, fist still raised, looking shaky, and staring at his hand like it had surprised him.

**Chapter Two**

 

rock 

/räk/ 

_noun_

 the solid mineral material forming part of the surface of the earth and other similar planets, exposed on the surface or underlying the soil or oceans.

* * *

 

          Daehyun pushed open one of the large, metal front doors at the entrance of the building. It was nearly half past nine, but Yongguk still sat at the front desk, probably working overtime, typing away on his computer. Daehyun scanned his ID and walked past the receptionist without a second glance, and the second row of doors slid open for him.

          Youngjae, his housemate and self-proclaimed best friend, had been working overtime for the past couple of weeks, usually staying at the office until at least ten at night, long after everyone else usually left. Daehyun didn’t like that so many people were being laid off of work while a good sized handful were being requested to work overtime. In all honestly, he thought that was a stupid thing for the head to do. With enough political persuasion, they could just reveal the actual source of energy. All they’d need was some propaganda and some made up stuff about how the boy wasn’t actually human.

          Except… he  _was_  a human. Just a different kind. Daehyun and the other medical staff’s analysis had confirmed that. Except, the “different kind” part seemed undefinable so far. They were working on it. Nobody on his team had been able to find any kind of information on or regarding beings other than themselves, not even in the national archives’ massive index. It seemed like there was a piece missing. Could this boy be one of a kind? Maybe some sort of scientific project that had gone wrong? Or were there more up there, above? Only two people had been sent on the retrieval mission: the scientist who had engineered the conductor detector, and Youngjae, who had been Kim’s right hand man for only two years up until that point.

          Of course, they had both been given special contracts to sign (not like they had a choice, either way), and Youngjae had been prohibited from speaking even a single word in reference to what happened up above while they collected the conductor.

          It wouldn’t be the first time Daehyun had doubted the authorities, and Youngjae’s decision to maintain his position in the company. He had even heard a rumor that the detector’s success had been a complete accident, and that the repercussions and resources that had been “obtained” to create it had been the cause of many deaths within the Lower Northern District, the home of software development.

          Youngjae had always just rolled his eyes when Daehyun told him about theories like that. Daehyun thought Youngjae was too uptight.

          Daehyun’s office was on the fifth floor, with the rest of their tiny medical sector. It was such a bother to have to take the elevator so often, especially because most of the minor injuries he was called to treat, usually just from small accidents with the machinery in maintenance, were on the first floor or in the basement.

          Of course, the supplies available to him in the building was quite limited, but the director had made orders for shipments of more surgical-related things when they brought in the new “generator”. It was required of Daehyun to sedate the boy twice daily, in the morning and at night.

          Youngjae had told him that all the things he would need to complete this procedure were already prepared for him upstairs, so he went straight to the eighth floor. But Daehyun hadn’t been told what it was he’d even be doing. He wrung his hands together as he leaned against the rail in the elevator, licking his lips nervously. The only things Youngjae had requested he bring were anesthetics, and strong ones, at that. Just from that, Daehyun could deduct that this would be something requiring incisions of some sort. They would never have him put someone under for anything less serious.

          The halls were fully lit, but the floor itself was almost completely silent, minus the hum of machinery, when Daehyun stepped out of the elevator.

          Youngjae was fiddling with the control panel on the wall when Daehyun pushed the door open. He eyed the cart in the middle of the room, next to the coffin-like container that held their new source of electricity.

          “We’re doing it in here?” he asked incredulously.

          Youngjae turned around and approached him. “Would you rather go through all the trouble of detaching him from everything and relocating him, only to bring him back and fix it all after?”

          Daehyun folded his arms across his chest. “This isn’t exactly the most sanitary location,” he said. “It would be worth it not to risk infection.”

          “It’s not that big of a deal,” Youngjae said, eyeing the boy behind the glass. His eyes were closed and his body was still. “Plus, we don’t have time to transport him to the care unit.”

          “What do you mean?” Daehyun raised an eyebrow. “Are we on a timer, or something?” He laughed humorlessly, but Youngjae just rested his hand on the glass before them, above the boy’s face.

          “Something like that.”

          “Oh.” Daehyun quieted at the tone of Youngjae’s voice. He sounded tired.

          “Anyway.” Youngjae cleared his throat. “We have anesthetics prepared, but should we still use them if he’s already unconscious?”

          “Well that depends,” Daehyun said, raising an eyebrow and eyeing Youngjae, “on what  _I’m_  doing.”

          “Right, well.” Youngjae drummed his fingers on the glass. “I guess I shouldn’t beat around the bush. Kim wants his vocal chords removed.”

          “Sorry, what?”

          “I said––”

          “I know what you said, idiot, I meant…” Daehyun shook his head. “I can’t do that! Are you kidding? Please tell me this is a joke.”

          Youngjae dropped his eyes.

          “I can’t… I can’t do that!” Daehyun said incredulously in a stage whisper.

          “Daehyun, please, I promised it would be done by morning, and––”

          “No. Find someone else.” He turned around to leave, but Youngjae stopped him by catching his wrist.

          “Daehyun! Do you want to get me fired? Do you want to get yourself fired?”

          “What–– no. Why would I––”

          “Because you will if you don’t do this!” Youngjae bit his tongue and let go of Daehyun. “We’d have to leave again. I guess, if we aren’t imprisoned.” He swallowed thickly. “Don’t do this to me, Dae. “

          Daehyun winced at the nickname. “Youngjae, I can’t do this. I don’t even know how, anyway!”

          “You don’t care if I lose my job? Daehyun, we’ll be on the streets again. An opportunity like this doesn’t come more than once!” Youngjae dropped his hand from where it still rested on the glass. “Besides, you don’t even know him. It’s not like it matters…” his voice sounded uneasy even to himself, and he cringed. They both knew that was bullshit. “He’s not even––”

          “Human?” Daehyun scoffed. “Look at him, of course he’s human! Maybe his hair looks different, maybe his eyes are a weird color, maybe he’s got weird marks on his neck and hands! So what! He’s still a  _person!_ He has a name, a family! You know, I have half a mind to break him out of here.”

          “Daehyun, calm down. Stop it. You don’t have a choice; you don’t get a say.”

          Daehyun blinked. “Excuse me?” He narrowed his eyes.

          Youngjae’s voice turned steely. “Fine. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to,” he said.

          “Are you kidding?” Daehyun’s jaw dropped. “You’d end up accidentally killing him!”

          Youngjae rose his eyebrows, and Daehyun’s expression tumbled. His point was clear.

          “Youngjae…”

          “Go put your gloves on. I’ll get him ready.”

           The small digital clock on the dresser read 3 AM.

          Junhong pushed the sheets off his body and sat up, pulling the shirt he had discarded on the foot of his bed over his white tank top. The black sweats he wore to sleep would have to do. Himchan was a light sleeper, and he wouldn’t risk waking him up with the creak of the dresser drawers just to look good.

          To hell if he was going to let someone continue being hurt while he was perfectly capable of doing something about it.

          He left the bedroom without a second glance back at Himchan’s bed, slipping soundlessly into the kitchen and sliding on the boots he had left by the front door. He grabbed his ID from the counter after slipping on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. It would get him in through the back entrance at the engineering sector; he could find his way back up to the eighth floor from there.

          He zipped up his jacket, a plain black thing that used to be Himchan’s, and stepped outside, into the empty street.

          It was dark. The lights were set to their lowest level at night, and he squinted while his eyes dilated to adjust. It certainly would take a while to arrive at his destination. The trains and buses didn’t run at night, so he would have to walk the whole way.

          Junhong had never been to the company after dark, and he had absolutely no idea how up to par the security was. But, again, risking his life was worth saving another, in his eyes. He knew that Himchan was only trying to protect him, to keep what happened to him from happening to Junhong. And maybe it  _was_  stupid. Junhong was taking a huge risk on the off-chance that he might help someone he didn’t even know.

          The truth, he supposed, was simply that he had been itching his entire life for something  _more._ Spend his entire life working in some factory, for some big, nameless face of a ruler? Hell no. This was just the excuse he needed to shake things up.

          Not that Himchan needed to know that.

 

          Okay, so maybe it  _had_ been a mistake.

          Crouched behind a wall in front of the looming building, Junhong felt his stomach roll. He had counted ten security guards so far. They each patrolled a different section, walking back and forth, their paths illuminated by several street lamps.

          He would have to run through their blind spots. He would have to run through their blind spots fast enough to scoot along the wall to the back of the building so that he could use his card to get through the back door that led to his sector. It was used by the engineers only, for project protocols, and Junhong was nearly positive they never bothered to put an access timer on it like they did with the more easily accessible locks.

 _Oh, god._ He licked his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat, sweat prickling at the back of his neck as he tried to focus. He could totally do this. Yeah.

          He quickly realized that the guards were stationed like a maze, which he actually managed to solve fairly quickly, though, of course, it was possible there were more guards that he couldn’t see from where he was positioned. He’d have to test his luck, and his speed. He just hoped that his smarts and apparently-above-average intelligence could get him back  _out_ if––once he got inside. Even if he  _did_ find somebody in there, he would have to get them out and then escape with them, and chances were high that the person would be incapacitated or even unconscious… damn, he should’ve made more of a plan beforehand.

          Oh, well. Winging it had always been his forte. That’s how he had gotten through high school.

          Junhong’s endurance wasn’t what it used to be, he realized while he sprinted almost-silently between the wall and the first blind spot. He pressed himself up against a tall pillar beneath an overhang, still some ways away from the building, just as the blinding white of a flashlight passed over the sidewalk that he had been on only a fraction of a second earlier.

          The next two were easy, and Junhong flashed through them, between the patches of light and darkness, leaping onto the raised front of the patio-like structure that led to the front door and performing what he considered to be an on-par tuck and roll behind a couple of large, stone sculptures.

          Halfway to the second-to-last mapped out checkpoint, there was a loud shout, and Junhong cursed, the noise triggering a million thoughts of panic to race through his mind before he drew a blank and  _ran._  There were heavy footfalls behind him, and he could see his silhouette in front of him, cast by a flashlight on his back.

          He turned a corner, the distance between him and his tracker growing, only to come to a near-screeching halt when he came face to face with another man, this one managing to snatch his arm before he could get out of reach. He struggled against the hold, but the guard dragged him back to the front of the building despite his incessant kicking, and he was joined by another guard in front of the main entrance, who seized Junhong’s opposite elbow.

          The second guard seemed about the say something, his face hard and angry, Junhong thinking about all the ways they could––and most definitely would––punish him, when the door behind them was pushed open.

          “Junhong.”

          Yongguk?

          Junhong twisted around as best he could in the tight grasps of the security guards to see the receptionist he checked in and out with every morning and night leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised.

          Junhong tried to say something, but he couldn’t get sound out of his throat. He was ready to beg on his knees for mercy, when Yongguk spoke up again, his quiet voice stilling the guards, who seemed confused, now.

          “Why didn’t you just tell them you were here to meet with me?” Yongguk tilted his head, and then looked towards the second guard. “I’m sorry. He’s with me.”

          “Why was he running, then?” The guard challenged, but he sounded like he believed Yongguk, anyway.

          “Probably because you were chasing him,” Yongguk replied amusedly.

          The guard huffed and let go of Junhong, then looked between the two.

          “Sorry. Go ahead,” he said.

          Junhong gulped and shook rubbed at where the harsh hands had locked around his arms, slowly approaching Yongguk, who silently led him through the lit lobby and into his office and instructed that he sit down.

          Junhong was so lost in his confusion that he didn’t hear when Yongguk spoke to him, he received a nudge to his shoulder.

          “I––sorry, what?” He spluttered quickly, shaking his head in attempt to clear his running mind.

          “I asked you what you’re doing here,” Yongguk repeated himself, and Junhong’s mouth went dry.

          “Um.”

          Yongguk raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat, analyzing him carefully. “You took a peek at those reports from this morning, didn’t you?” he asked, but it came out sounding more like a statement.

          Junhong opened his mouth to lie, but Yongguk stopped him, seeming to assume his response.

          “Don’t bother lying to me, Junhong.”

          Yongguk’s stare gave him chills, and he swallowed hard again, his hands clutching the armrests of the chair like they were keeping him alive.

          “Yes,” he wheezed out.

          “And you’re here to investigate.”

          He nodded and clenched his jaw, trying not to shake and refusing to meet Yongguk’s eyes.

          “Good, so you’ll help me, then.”

          Junhong’s head shot up and a garbled, confused noise tumbled out of his mouth loudly.

          “What?”

          Yongguk smiled at him softly. “I’ve been planning this for a few days. It’s just lucky that you happened to show up the same night I was going to actually carry it out.”

          “Carry what out?” Junhong scooched forward in his seat. Was Yongguk implying what he thought he was?

          “The same thing you came here to do, I hope,” Yongguk said, still smiling lightly as he folded his hands across his lap. “I was here when they brought the generator in. They made me swear another oath of secrecy once they noticed that I saw him,” he said thoughtfully. “Kind enough to offer me the alternative of execution, too.”

          “Him?” Could it be true? The company was… using a human life to produce power?

          Yongguk nodded. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but they’re using him, somehow, and I don’t like it.” He hesitated before continuing. “I could hear him the first few nights. From down here, through the air vents.”

          Junhong shuddered a bit.

          “But he’s gone silent since this evening. I haven’t heard a thing.” Yongguk’s brows knitted together as he said this, like he was thinking hard.

          “You think they moved him?” Junhong asked. “Or…” he hesitated, “or… killed him?”

          “I don’t think so.” Yongguk rested his chin in his palm. “The production of energy hasn’t wavered at all. It would have if they had moved him, because he would need to be disconnected.”

          “And it would’ve stopped altogether had he died,” Junhong finished. “So, what’s your plan?”

          “Well, let’s go over the consequences, first.”

          “I’m aware of the possible repercussions,” Junhong said. “And I’m definitely in.”

          “You trust me?”

          “What do you mean?”

            Yongguk chuckled. “Well, I could always double cross you and turn you in.”

            Junhong frowned and rolled his eyes. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

            “You’re an engineer, right?”

 

            “Jeez, how many cameras  _are_ there in this place?” Junhong moused around on Yongguk’s computer.

            “Just over a hundred,” Yongguk said, leaning over Junhong’s shoulder. “But they’re all linked to the same circuit, so if you can get into that, you can shut them all down at once.”

            “For how long?” Junhong kept his eyes trained on the screen, tapping at the keyboard.

          “Give us half an hour. I’m actually surprised you know how to work all of this,” Yongguk mused.

          “I had to take tons of comp sci classes to get my degree,” Junhong answered distractedly. “Here. I think this is the right one.” He pointed to the screen.

          Yongguk had no idea what any of it meant. “Ah, yes,” he said.

          “Half an hour?” Junhong turned to look at him. “Are you sure about this?”

          Yongguk nodded. “Yes. Do it.”

          It only took a couple minutes for Junhong to decrypt the code, and after that, the cameras went down within seconds.

          “Okay,” he said. “They’re all out, let’s go.”

            “You said you heard the screams.” Yongguk led Junhong out of the office and into the hall. “Where exactly were they coming from?”

            “Uh, the eighth floor, down the hall from the director’s office.”

            “Then that’s where we’re going.” Yongguk punched the up button on the elevator, and the doors slid open.

            “You think it was the same person you saw the other day?” Junhong asked as he stepped inside.

            Yongguk shrugged. “I kind of had figured they’d take him upstairs. It would have been the first place to look, anyway, but yeah. I don’t see another option so far. This is the only lead so I’m going to take it.” There was a brief moment of quiet, only the whirring of the elevator pulling itself up through the floors before he spoke again. “It seems rash and sudden of me, doesn’t it?”

            “It was rash and sudden of me, too,” Junhong said. “My… housemate didn’t want me to go. I tried to explain to him that this could be life or death for whoever’s being hurt up there, but he was worried I’d get in trouble.” He looked at his shoes. “I would’ve, if you hadn’t shown up.”

            Yongguk hummed. “Kim Himchan, right?”

            Junhong looked up, surprised. “How’d you know?”

            Yongguk smiled. “I have access to a lot of information on our employees.” His expression turned to a frown. “I saw that he won’t be working here anymore.”

            “Yeah.” Junhong bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do. Even if you and I do find someone up there, and then get them out of here,  _and_ manage to avoid being caught, would I just… keep coming to work every day?”

            Yongguk opened his mouth to reply, but the elevator dinged. They stepped out into the hallway.

            “This way,” Junhong spoke in a hushed tone. “Are you sure nobody else is here?”

            Yongguk nodded. “I would’ve had to check them in.”

            “Okay.”

           

            The door hung a bit ajar, light glowing through the crack, and Junhong frowned. “The lights are on?” He mumbled. He looked at Yongguk, who just shrugged, and kept moving, crouching by the opening and peering inside.

            The walls were lined corner to corner in machinery, lights flickering and engines whirring. From each receptacle came a cord, and they all met in a large tangle at the center of the room, plugged into ports all over the sides of a strange, almost table-looking contraption.

            “There’s nobody in here.” Junhong pulled the door the rest of the way open, and slowly walked inside, getting a better view of the metal that clung to the walls, moving closer to inspect it.

            Yongguk immediately rushed to the structure in the middle of the room, and placed his hands on the top, which was made of glass. “Oh, my god,” he muttered.

            Junhong turned around, moving to his side. “What is i––oh.”

            It was like a capsule, the inside of the case hollow, almost like a coffin. The sides, all except the top, were lined in metal plating, wires stretching across almost the entirety of it. But most of the space was taken up by a person––a boy––; the wires ran up and down and across his body, which was naked from the waist up, only wearing a pair of plain white shorts that just about reached his knees. There was a mask over his face, covering his mouth and nose. Probably oxygen. There was something over his throat that Junhong couldn’t really make out through the glass. A beeping panel on the top of the container flashed red, confusing numbers and figures at him. An IV was stuck in the boy’s––well, no, the  _man’s_  arm, and it was probably the only thing keeping him alive.

            “How do we get him out?” Junhong’s fingers skittered frantically over the plastic top, looking for some sort of button or latch.

            “Wait.” Yongguk caught his arm. “I think it needs an authorized fingerprint––”

            As if a blessing (and a curse), suddenly a new voice echoed from outside the door.

            “I dunno, Jae. I feel… gross. I just don’t like it, okay?”

            The two froze, turning in tandem just in time for the door to be pulled open.

            “It’s not like I do, either, but we didn’t have a––”

            The man at the door froze, and Junhong could see another behind him, trying to peek past his arm to see what had cut his sentence off.

            “Yongguk.” The man’s voice came out hard and defensive, much different than the more gentle tone they had heard just before the door had revealed him.

            “What are you doing here? And––wait,” he pointed at Junhong. “Who the hell is this?”

            “Wait, Yongguk? Youngjae, what’s going on? Let me see!” The man who had been behind Youngjae pushed past his arm and entered the room. Before he could say anything, Yongguk spoke up:

            “Why are you two here so late?” he asked.

            “Don’t try to avoid the question,” Youngjae hissed. “I was there when they gave you that oath. You aren’t allowed in here.”

            “You are hurting, no, you are  _killing_ an innocent person,” Yongguk shot back.

            “ _I_  am doing my  _job,”_ Youngjae seethed, his grip tightening on the door handle he was still clutching. “Look. I’ll give you and… this kid… a chance to leave and forget this ever happened.”

            Yongguk rolled his jaw, but before he could speak, the other man, whom he recognized as Jung Daehyun, one of the company’s on-site medics, let out a yelp, and fell to the ground. Junhong stood over him, fist still raised, looking shaky, and staring at his hand like it had surprised him.

            “Daehyun!” Youngjae made to run over, but Junhong stepped in front of the man on the floor, who appeared to be unconscious.

            “Youngjae,” Yongguk warned.

            Youngjae growled. “You know I’m going to be forced to report you. It’s a shame; I did always––”

            His words were cut off with another thunk, Yongguk’s distraction giving Junhong the opportunity to knock him out. He fell, very ungracefully, onto the floor, half of his body resting on Daehyun’s.

            Yongguk grimaced at the two. “We could have tried to reason with them,” he said.

            “There’s no time for that,” Junhong snapped. “You said we need a fingerprint to open this, right?” He tapped Youngjae’s limp hand with the toe of his boot, and Yongguk sighed.

            “Yeah.”

 

            “You do have a plan for what you were going to do with him once you got him, right?” Yongguk asked as he dropped Youngjae, not very gently, back on top of Daehyun.

            “Uh,” Junhong froze while the top of the chamber slid down with a hiss. “To be honest, I really didn’t think I would get this far, but I guess I just figured I’d… take him home?”

            “Do you live nearby?”

            “A half-hour walk.”

            Yongguk sighed. “I have a car here. I’ll drive you, but then I’ll need to leave immediately. My shift here ends five minutes before the cameras are scheduled to go back on, so they won’t miss me if I’m not here, but…”

            “He’ll report you.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Where will you go?”

            “Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s just get him out of there.”

            “Thank you,” Junhong said, and Yongguk nodded back at him before reaching down to carefully slip the breathing mask off the man’s face.

            They both noticed at the same time.

            “What the––”

            “Whoa!”

            Yongguk set the mask off to the side. “Look at that,” he breathed, leaning further over the side.

            The boy’s––no, the  _man’s_  hair was the color of platinum. Long, wavy strands fell over his forehead and into his eyes. His cheeks looked hollow and his face dull of light, but… were those… dots on his face? Junhong squinted. Yes, there were sprinkles of tiny, orange-brown specks all over the boy’s cheeks and nose. What was that?

            “What…” Junhong shook his head. “How is that possible?”

            That wasn’t possible. Everyone had black hair. All hair was black. That was just a fact. Right? And what was with those dots? Why were there marks on his face? Could they be scars? A bunch of tiny, pin-prick like marks seemed unlikely to be scars. His skin had a strange shine to it, even in the dusty light of the stale light of the room; it looked smooth and strong, pulled over thick muscles and tinted a tanner color than he’d ever seen a person with before. There were two symbols Junhong didn’t recognize on the skin of his neck, and ones to match on his hands. How…?

            “Doesn’t matter,” Yongguk said. “We need to hurry.”

            Junhong nodded, and reached down to peel the thick, plastic medical tape that held the IVs to the boy’s arm away, then gently slid the needles out of the vein, only to bite his lip when blood spotted from the tiny wound. “You don’t think they’d have Band-Aids or something in here, do you?” he asked Yongguk, who was working on the straps that held the boy down.

            “Check Daehyun’s bag.” Yongguk nodded in the direction of the passed-out medic, and Junhong turned around, dropping the needles on an empty tray on the nearby counter. Huh. He hadn’t even noticed that the man had a bag over his shoulder. After a minute of rummaging around, he found a roll of gauze and some tape. “I guess this’ll work,” he mumbled to himself.

            “Find anything?” Yongguk asked, finishing with the buckles that held metal around the boy’s wrists and ankles.

            Junhong nodded, and tore a small piece of the gauze from the roll before ripping a strand of the tape with his teeth. He held it in his mouth while he threw the roll of gauze behind him, and folded the piece into a square. He pressed it to the inside of the boy’s elbow, pushing it onto the skin hard with his thumb, then took the tape from his mouth and smoothed it over his naked arm. It was then that he glanced back up at the boy’s throat, getting a closer look at whatever he’d caught a glance of before. Gauze was wrapped thickly around his neck over a pressurized bandage. He frowned at it and opened his mouth to speak, but Yongguk pulled apart the binding above his chest, and spoke before he could.

            “I think that’s it, except for those…” he gestured to the man’s shoulders.

            “What the hell are those?” Junhong hadn’t even noticed the rows of transmitters stuck into his skin.

            Yongguk frowned at the control panel on the side of the container. He pushed a button.

            Junhong jumped when the transmitters fell slack with a hiss, and he looked over at Yongguk. “What did you do?”

            “Lucky guess?” Yongguk shrugged. “Do you think you can carry him on your back?”

 

            Sneaking out the back exit was not as difficult as Junhong thought it should be. Security was, apparently, only stationed outside, in the front. There was only one car in the parking lot, and Yongguk led them over to it.

            “Wow.” Junhong had never been in a car before. “This is so cool. Does the engine run the same way as the ones in the buses? How much exhaust does it emit? Are those––”

            “Junhong.” Yongguk slid into the front seat and shoved his keys into the ignition port.

            “Sorry,” Junhong muttered sheepishly, biting his lip. “It’s the engineer in me. I’ve just never actually been in one of these before.”

            “You’ll have to tell me how to get to your house. You’re sure they won’t recognize you, right?”

            Junhong pulled down the mask that covered most of his face. “Yeah. That’s not really a problem.”

            Yongguk nodded. “Good.”

            The ride was fairly quiet, minus the directions Junhong gave to Yongguk every couple minutes. He was in the back of the car, the man they had rescued awkwardly slumped next to him, still unconscious. It was dark, but the occasional window of light that shone through the windows from the few street lamps gave Junhong a few glimpses at his face. His expression looked pained.

            “Is this it?” Yongguk pulled over to the side of the road.

            “Yeah, that’s it.”

            Yongguk stopped the car and got out, opening Junhong’s door for him and helping him get the other man out of the back with him, and settling him over his back again.

            “Do you need me to help you get him inside?” he asked.

            “Yes, please. The keys are in my front pocket.

            A little bit of awkward fumbling later, they were through the door and in the kitchen.

            “Bedroom, on the left,” Junhong wheezed out, trying to keep the man on his back from sliding off. Yongguk opened the door for him, and Junhong stumbled in before half-collapsing on his bed and letting go of the man on his back. He unwound his arms and laid the man on his back so that his head was on the pillow. Yongguk helped Junhong get the sheets out from under his body and drape them over his naked torso, effectively tucking the man in.

            “There, okay,” Junhong sighed and he patted the man’s chest gently, as if finalizing his comfort. “Now, uh…”

            “Now you tell me  _why_ you just put an unconscious person in your bed.”

            Junhong yelped and Yongguk jumped.

            “Oh, shit, Himchan! You scared me!” Junhong rested a hand over his heart.

            Himchan was sitting cross-legged on his bed across the room, watching them with narrowed eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest. He raised a brow.

            “I need to leave,” Yongguk said suddenly. “They’ll be looking for me.”

            “Wait, where are you gonna go?” Junhong asked.

            “I know somebody in the one of the Lower West districts,” Yongguk said.

            Junhong frowned. “But that’s so far away.”

            Yongguk smiled. “The farther the better.”

            “Good point.” Junhong nodded. “You should get going, then. Thank you, again. So much, really. I’d be dead if not for you.”

            “No need to thank me.” Yongguk protested but Junhong still stepped closer and pulled him into a hug.

            “I hope I’ll see you again, soon,” he said when he pulled back.

            “Let’s pray it won’t be in prison,” Yongguk said with a smile as he stepped out of the room. “Here.” He tossed Junhong’s keys back. “See you around.”

            And then he was gone.

            Himchan cleared his throat pointedly, and Junhong turned around slowly to face him.

          “Anyway, explain.  _Now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD FORMATTING ON THIS WEBSITE I SWEAR TO HECK
> 
> anyway i hope you guys are enjoying this so far. updates for this will be a bit slow just because of the length of each chapter, and the fact that i'm trying to actually go back and do some editing before i post.
> 
> i'm not gonna lie tho, the more feedback i get the more i write, so if you want more of this tell me!! this was an issue i had with one of my other WIPs, Blood in the Sand (which is now on hiatus), and i really don't want it to happen to this one, because i actually have a full outline AND a sequel planned.
> 
> thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> does it feel rushed? i feel like it feels rushed. idk lmao rip. tell me what you think!


	4. Metamorphic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Himchan poked his head inside. “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously. “I told you to—oh.”
> 
> Junhong watched Himchan as he entered the room and shut the door behind him, carefully. He made his way over to Junhong's bed, where the man still sat, shaking with tears on his cheeks. Rather than sitting, he knelt beside it, and offered his hand.
> 
> “Hello,” he murmured, looking the man up and down.
> 
> The man rose his gaze a fraction, and blinked at the hand in front of him, tilting his head before reaching out to touch it, hesitantly. Himchan chuckled at his obvious unfamiliarity with handshakes, and the man rose his entire head at the sound before freezing. He sat perfectly still, just staring at Himchan as he introduced himself.

**Chapter Three**

met·a·mor·phic

/ˌmedəˈmôrfik/

_adjective_

denoting rock that has undergone transformation by heat, pressure, or other natural agencies, e.g., in the folding of strata or the nearby intrusion of igneous rocks.

* * *

 

             “You just got us killed. Junhong, they’re going to literally kill us!”

            “Well, I’m sorry for having morals!”

            Himchan raised an eyebrow at him. “Then I suppose I’m sorry for trying to take care of you?”

            “I didn’t ask you to take care of me.”

            “Could you be any more childish?” Himchan hissed at him.

            “Why are you ignoring the fact that I was right?” Junhong gestured in the direction of his bed, where the unnamed man slept. “He was being hurt! They were killing him!”

            Himchan sighed. “Look. I understand that, but what you did was just reckless. We can’t––we can’t  _be_  here anymore, Junhong.”

            There was a pause before Junhong spoke again. “We?”

            “Well, now that you’ve dragged me into this operation, yes, it’s a  _we_.”

            “I didn’t drag you––”

            “You brought him into our home! Into our bedroom! That  _involves_  me, Junhong!”

            Junhong’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

            “Look, we can talk about this later. There’s not much time.” Himchan slid off the bed and made his way to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer.

            “What do we do?” Junhong bit his lip, turning to watch the man sleeping soundly in his bed.

            “Well, since I’m not going to heartlessly toss him out into the street, we’re gonna get out of here,” Himchan answered, pulling a pair of socks on and digging around for a long-sleeved shirt. He shook his head. “We should have gone with Yongguk.”

            Junhong swallowed hard, throat going a bit dry. “Yeah,” he agreed. It was too late for that. And Yongguk had had a  _car_. He sat down beside the man on his bed, brow creased with worry. He switched on the bedside lamp, and gazed at his face. He looked peaceful, then. His expression was relaxed, and his breathing had fallen steady. Junhong let his eyes fall back down to his neck. He reached for the bandage that stretched across the front of his throat, and let his fingers run across the gauze. The man shifted, and Junhong drew his hand back quickly.

            “Junhong.”

            He turned around quickly at the sound of his name, just in time to stand up and catch the backpack Himchan threw at him before ducking into the kitchen.

            “Get your necessities together.”

            Junhong nodded and stood. He made his way to the closet quietly, and gathered up his few toiletries. “The trains,” he said suddenly.

            “Trains?” Himchan echoed. Junhong heard the pantry’s doors fall shut.

            “We can sneak onto one of the night trains,” he said. “At the loading station on the edge of the city parameters.”

            “That might be our best option, actually,” Himchan said from the other room, a tone of surprise taking his voice.

            As Himchan came back into the room, Junhong turned to him.

“But what are we going to do about him?” he asked, nodded his head back toward his bed.

            Himchan frowned. “Well we can’t do anything if he doesn’t wake up soon, but if he does, and if he can walk, then I guess…” he shrugged and nodded.

            “Should I try to wake him up?” Junhong asked, finished stuffing things into the first pouch of his pack and zipping it up.

            Himchan eyed the clock on the dresser. “Yeah. I’m sure it won’t be long until they notice he’s missing. Maintenance starts routine checks at five.”

            “Okay, so we have half an hour.”

            Himchan nodded an affirmative.

            Junhong made a noise of panic before rushing back over to his bed.

            “I’ve got all of our leftover rations packed up,” Himchan called as he left the room. “But I don’t think it’ll last us very long, so we’ll need to make plans for when it inevitably runs out. Which will happen more quickly with him around.”

            Junhong frowned, and sat down carefully next to the man in his bed. For a moment, he let himself just watch the way the light fell on his skin, over the dips in his collarbones and casting shadows on his cheek. Those little spots all over his face really had him fascinated, and, not usually one to think twice, Junhong reached out and poked the man’s cheek.

            Almost immediately, the man twitched away from the touch, and Junhong jerked his hand back as he slowly blinked his eyes open. He held his breath as the man seemed to be trying to focus his vision, just staring, blinking, and squinting at the ceiling. It felt like time froze when he looked at Junhong. Half of him wanted to ease the panicked look he was getting, while the other half wanted to lean closer and inspect the man’s eyes, which were somehow colored so lightly.

            The man gasped and tried to sit up, only to wince at the movement when his torso flexed.

            “Hey, easy, there,” Junhong held his hands awkwardly in front of him, not quite sure if he should touch him or not. The man moved away from him frantically, though it was obvious that moving cause him immense pain. He pressed his back into the corner of the wall where the bed was pressed, and hugged his knees to his chest, burying his head in his lap. He was shaking, and Junhong felt his heart fracture just a bit.

            “I want to help you,” he offered quietly. “My name is Junhong. I’m not going to hurt you. I took you away from them.”

            The man lifted his head. He stretched his arms out in front of him, only just then realizing that he was no longer hooked up to anything. He also blushed and covered his chest when he realized that he was mostly naked, so Junhong rummaged through Himchan’s drawers for a shirt. (His own would have been far too large for him.)

            The shirt still practically consumed the man, but he seemed more comfortable. Junhong even noticed him periodically sniffing the fabric, and he figured he must be able to smell Himchan’s cologne on it.

            “Are you, um…” Junhong hesitated for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

            Junhong has seen a lot of things that made him feel sad. Even devastated. When he had to leave his family after graduation, when his mother’s friend lost a baby… but, he decided, right then and there, within the following few moments, that the saddest thing he had ever seen in his entire life was the moment in which the man on his bed realized he couldn’t speak. He watched as the man’s lips moved silently for a second, before stopping in confusion, and pain. His eyebrows creased, and he reached up, pressing a shaky hand to his throat, over the bandage secured there. His eyes widened, terrified, as he looked down and then back up at Junhong. His fingers traced the bandage down his throat, but he flinched in pain and dropped his hand into his lap.

            “You,” Junhong hesitated, “you can’t talk,” he stated, disbelief evident in his voice. The man shook his head frantically, as if denying the situation. His lips moved more, but Junhong couldn’t read them. Suddenly anger rose within him, as he watched the man’s eyes well with tears. “They did this, didn’t they? Who am I kidding, of course they did!” He threw his hands up and stood, pacing the length of the room, back and forth. “God, I–– those  _bastards_.” He looked up suddenly, back at the man. The gaze was returned, but only weakly. “The man with the medic bag. He must’ve done it. What was his name, what was his name?” Junhong walked in circles for a minute before stopping suddenly, a finger in the air. “Daehyun!” he proclaimed. “If only I hadn’t waited so long…”

            The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Himchan poked his head inside. “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously. “I told you to—oh.”

            Junhong watched Himchan as he entered the room and shut the door behind him, carefully. He made his way over to Junhong’s bed, where the man still sat, shaking with tears on his cheeks. Rather than sitting, he knelt beside it, and offered his hand.

            “Hello,” he murmured, looking the man up and down.

            The man rose his gaze a fraction, and blinked at the hand in front of him, tilting his head before reaching out to touch it, hesitantly. Himchan chuckled at his obvious unfamiliarity with handshakes, and the man rose his entire head at the sound before freezing. He sat perfectly still, just staring at Himchan as he introduced himself.

            “I guess you’ve already met Junhong,” he said. “I’m Himchan. We live together, and we worked at the factory they… had you at.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

            Junhong cringed at the question, and the man pointed the bandage on his throat, shaking his head and blinking like he was trying to stop tears from forming.

            “Oh.” Himchan bit his lip awkwardly.

The man mimed a pen and paper, a request to which Himchan did not hesitate to cater to. He stood and rummaged around in the drawer of Junhong’s bedside table for a minute, before coming up with a battery-powered tablet and stylus.

            He placed them on the bed in front of the man, who glanced between him and the tablet cautiously. He picked up the stylus, first, turning it in his hands to inspect it. He rubbed the tip of his index finger against the end, and blinked widely when it came away clean. He looked up at Himchan questioningly, seeming bewildered. Himchan sighed, and sat down next to him, picking up the tablet and taking the stylus from his hand.

            “Look,” he said, pressing the power button. The screen lit up bright white, and the man immediately brought a hand up to shield his eyes. Himchan laughed and turned the brightness down. “Here, look,” he pulled the man’s hands away from his face gently, and watched as he blinked at the device in front of him, eyes going wide with fascination. He took it from Himchan, who handed the stylus back, too.

            It took a few tries for him to write something out successfully, and once he was satisfied he turned the tablet around to face Himchan.

            Himchan studied the writing with a frown. “I don’t know these characters,” he mumbled. The symbols looked foreign to him. Only a few lines here and there clicked in his head. The man’s shoulders immediately drooped even further than they already had, and he pulled his knees to his chest again. Himchan eyed him carefully, a frown on his face. He hadn’t even noticed before––the man looked just as unfamiliar as the symbols on the screen before him; his hair was a shocking, silvery platinum, and his skin made Himchan look deathly pale next to him, so rich and tanned. Himchan shook his head. “Junhong,” he called, waving him over. “Look at this.”

            Having paced off much of his initial anger towards that man,  _Daehyun,_ Junhong turned away from his mumblings of revenge, and joined them at the side of the bed. Himchan slid the tablet to him, and he looked down at it. Immediately one of his eyebrows perked upwards.

            “These are traditional characters,” he said, sounding almost excited. “Oh, wow.” He leaned closer. “Nobody’s used these for centuries.”

            Himchan blinked, then nodded his head at the man curled in on himself in Junhong’s bed, side against the wall with his face buried in his drawn-up knees. “He does.”

            Junhong’s nose scrunched in confusion, and he ran his fingers just above the writing, as if it would help him understand.

            “Can you read them?” Himchan asked.

            Junhong nodded slowly. “They’re way more confusing than what we use now, and, not to mention, super outdated, but I studied them in primary school for a while. I’m not perfect, but I know that this is a name. A really old-fashioned one.” He glanced at the man still hugging himself on his bed. “Is it his?”

            Himchan nodded and leaned over to look back at the glowing screen, still trying to make sense of the characters, despite knowing that he would never understand them.

            Junhong brought his eyes back up to the man on his bed, whose gaze was directed forward, then. Junhong followed his line of vision to find Himchan, who was still staring at the tablet between them. The man still had tears in his eyes, but he was staring at Himchan as if he had never seen a man before, eyes were wide and clear. Still pained, but, in the light, Junhong could make out the light brown of his irises. Was that  _green_  mixed in?

            “Jongup,” Junhong said.

            That snapped him out of his trance. The man––Jongup––jumped at the sound of his name, and broke his gaze away from Himchan and back to Junhong, with the most relieved smile Junhong thought he had ever seen. Jongup lunged forward, suddenly, and wrapped his arms around him.

            “Um,” Junhong stammered awkwardly, not sure what to do. He was standing, so Jongup’s face rested against his stomach as he nuzzled up against him, seeming very relieved with his partial-fluency in the alphabet. Junhong could feel tears soaking into his shirt just before Jongup pulled back, his face suddenly red.

            "Where are you from?" Junhong asked. "You… uh, the spots on your face. I've never seen somebody with birth marks like that. And your hair," he blurted without thinking.

            Jongup seemed taken aback.

            "Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say." Junhong could feel his cheeks flushing.

            Suddenly Jongup pointed up, at the ceiling.

            Junhong cocked his head. "What?" Jongup only moved his hand up and down, emphasizing where he was pointing. "I don't understand," Junhong said. "Write it out?" He snatched the tablet back from Himchan, and gave it to Jongup, who wrote quickly.

            "Sur… face?" Junhong asked slowly, uncertainly, and Jongup nodded. He was about to ask for a more elaborate answer, but Himchan spoke before he had the chance. They could save this conversation for later, anyway.

            “Jongup,” Himchan parroted Junhong, and Jongup looked at him. “I know you must be tired, but we’re going to have to leave soon, because those people we took you from will want you back. Can you walk on your own?”

            Jongup’s eyes widened for a second when Himchan mentioned his captors, but he shook his head and just shrugged, blinking tiredly again. He unfolded his legs from beneath him and stretched them out carefully. Junhong put a hand on his shoulder as he slid his bare feet to touch the ground.

            “Can you go get him some food and water?” he asked Himchan, who had given up on trying to read Jongup’s name. He nodded and left the room, but not before mouthing “be quick” to him, silently.

            Jongup exhaled forcefully as he pushed himself to his feet. Junhong kept a firm grip on his shoulder as he swayed a little bit, and until he seemed to have stabilized himself. He could see that Jongup’s legs were trembling, but only barely, so he decided to let go of him. On the first step forward, his knees gave out, and he would have collapsed to the ground if Junhong hadn’t caught him.

            “Maybe we should wait until after you’ve eaten something,” he suggested.

            Jongup frowned, but he let Junhong push him gently back to sit on the bed again. He sighed and stared at the floor for a few seconds, before lifting his head and turning to face Junhong, slowly, almost shyly. A shine caught Junhong’s eye as he moved, and he realized that Jongup had multiple hoops of metal through his ears. He found the jewelry strange, no doubt, but he was easily distracted again when his eyes caught the spots on Jongup’s face he had seen before. They didn’t seem to have a pattern of any sort, and they were faint in the dim light of the room, but he let his eyes follow their path over the bridge of his nose and around his cheeks.

            The two markings on his neck––Junhong had forgotten about them––were only half-visible, blocked by the thick gauze across Jongup’s throat. He raised a finger to point at them, wincing when Jongup flinched at the sudden movement.

            “What are those?” he asked.

            Jongup looked confused for a moment, before reaching up and smoothing a hand over the side of his neck, careful around the bandage. His lips formed an o, and he picked up the tablet and stylus again. It took him longer that time, and Junhong peered over his shoulder to see a small paragraph being written. Himchan returned, and placed a plate and a glass on the bedside table before sitting down beside them again.

            Jongup thrust the tablet back into Junhong’s hands, and immediately reached for the food. Himchan handed him the water, first, making sure he drank slowly. A few sips and a lot of worrying coughing later, he had the plate in his lap, but was staring at it with distrust. He pointed at it and looked at Himchan accusatively. In the middle sat a single slice of stale bread, its gray color not especially appealing, but also not abnormal. For them.

            “It’s bread,” Himchan explained, deadpan. Jongup didn’t seem to buy that, shaking his head and poking the food suspiciously, his eyes narrowed.

            Himchan rolled his eyes and bounced his leg impatiently. “Junhong,” he called.

            But Junhong wasn’t listening. He had sat down on Himchan’s bed, across from them, and was staring hard at the words Jongup had written. There were many characters he was completely unfamiliar with, but a few stuck out that he could put together.

            “Hunt, person… hunter…” he muttered to himself. “Ink, magic… wait, magic?” He looked up as he spoke the last words, raising his voice. Jongup turned away from Himchan, who appeared to have ended up hand-feeding him little pieces of bread like some sort of mother badger with her young, at Junhong’s voice. He nodded quickly, but his face was twisted in pain as he swallowed the food in his mouth.

            Junhong frowned. “It hurts?” he asked, pointing at his own throat.

            Jongup only shrugged, and jerked back when Himchan’s hand appeared in front of his mouth again, a piece of bread between his fingers. Jongup smacked it away and took the food to put it in his own mouth, only to fall into a fit of painful-sounding, dry coughing. Himchan and Junhong watched him, not sure what to do, until it faded away. When he looked up, Junhong could see tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and tracks running down his cheeks. Himchan handed him a tissue.

            “Well,” Himchan began, “I’ve got all our remaining rations and water packed up, so…” He gestured to Junhong. “Whenever you’re ready.” He stood up, Jongup watching him carefully.

            Junhong sighed. “Right.”

            “Sooner than later,” Himchan patted his shoulder as he passed him. “If you’re not ready in fifteen… you understand; I’ll have to go without you.”

Junhong nodded. It was his fault, anyway. Himchan shouldn’t even be waiting.

But those thoughts would have to wait. For now, “Jongup.”

He was already watching Junhong, no doubt having overheard every word out of Himchan’s mouth.

“You ready to try walking again?” Junhong asked, forcing a smile. Jongup saw right through it.

With a deep frown on his face, he motioned Junhong over, and took the tablet back from him. After erasing the paragraph Junhong had been laboring over, he replaced it with a short sentence, and returned it, fiddling awkwardly with the blanket beneath him and avoiding Junhong’s eye.

“’Not you, me’,” he read aloud. “What?” When he looked back up, Jongup was pointing at himself. When he caught his gaze, that finger moved toward the door.

“The… kitchen?”

Jongup rolled his eyes and shook his head, then grabbed the tablet back. He scribbled something down and turned the screen around.

“’You stay, I go’,” Junhong muttered. “No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I’m not going to just abandon you. You’ll,” he trailed off, hands motioning uselessly. Jongup raised his eyebrows. “They’ll find you,” he said slowly. “They’ll take you back. You’ll… die.”

Jongup shook his head, and Junhong pretended not to notice when he opened his mouth as if to object, only to wince in pain and close it, turning the tablet back around.

“They saw me, anyway,” he said, averting his gaze. “Those two who came in. I’ve seen them once or twice, but Yongguk knew them. They’ll tell him it was me. I’ll be killed. Yongguk, too, if they find him.”

Jongup tilted his head, obviously not knowing what he was talking about. Probably due to his recent unconsciousness.

Junhong shook his head, expression hardening. Jongup wrote something else down.

“Himchan can’t stay, either,” Junhong said when the screen was turned to him again. “They’ll take him. Arrest him. They’ll suspect he was involved. And I… I can’t let that happen to him. God, I was so stupid,” he muttered, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing it over his eyes. He was so tired. When he opened them again, Jongup was standing next to him, nearly a head shorter, and pointing to his feet. Junhong smiled at him. “Right. Pants.”

 

Daehyun woke up slowly. His arms were cramped, and his ears were ringing. He blinked bleariness from his eyes and lifted his head dazedly, the lights around him foggy and blinking. It took him a minute to realize that something heavy was on top of him. Someone. Youngjae. What was Youngjae doing on top of him? But, oh, he wasn’t in his bed. The floor was cold, and the air was stale, as always. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiggled his arms out from where they were pressed to Youngjae’s stomach. He braced his hands on the floor and pushed himself up to sit, letting Youngjae slide limply into his lap and immediately bringing a hand to his head with a groan when the room spun around him. As everything settled back into place, he became aware of a horrible throbbing on the back of his head. He rubbed it and made it worse, of course, before turning back to Youngjae. He knew immediately that his nose was broken. Whether he had been hit or fallen on it, Daehyun didn’t know, but there were lines of dried blood streaked over his upper lip and down his chin. Daehyun looked down and, sure enough, there was a large, dark red stain on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, God,” Daehyun said to the empty room. Wait, room? The generator room, right. Wait, the generator room? He whipped his head around quickly as the memories came back to him. Right, they were coming back to check on the boy in the glass case after cleaning up from the procedure. Daehyun winced quite visibly when he remembered what he had done. But, then… what had happened after that?

He looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that the glass case in the middle of the room was left slid open. Had they forgotten to close it after the surgery? He nudged Youngjae gently over until he was laying on his side, and stood up, wobbling on his legs. His bag was on the floor next to him, open, and the boy was gone. Shit.

“Shit.” Daehyun heard a low groan, and a hand tugged on his pant leg. “Daehyun. I think,” Youngjae’s voice sounded oddly nasally. “I think my nose is broken.”

Daehyun knelt next to him, and smacked his hand away from where it was poking at his face. “It most definitely is,” he confirmed. “But, there’s another, probably-worse problem.” He could hear the panic rising in his own voice, and it was obvious Youngjae could sense it, too.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong? What happened? Oh, God, the blood on your shirt, did you get shot!” Youngjae had his hands on Daehyun’s shoulders within an instant, looking him over.

“Calm down, it’s from your dumb nose,” Daehyun said pushing his hands away, and Youngjae retreated to poke his philtrum carefully, wincing when his finger came back bloodied.

“Sorry.”

“Youngjae, he’s gone.”

“What? Who?”

“The, um––” but he didn’t have to finish his sentence before Youngjae was on his feet.

“Oh, no, no no no, this is bad. Oh, this is so bad. Fuck.” Tripping over himself a couple times on the way, he rushed to the side of the glass container, looking around frantically. There were wires strewn all over the place, the top carelessly left open, and the needle from the IV dangled freely in the air, hanging from the bag on the rack it was attached to. “Yongguk…”

“Yes, Yongguk,” Daehyun agreed, joining Youngjae where he stood and balancing himself with a hand on the glass beside him. “What do we do? Do we call someone? Should we just leave? I––”

“Daehyun, listen to me,” Youngjae interrupted, still staring hard at the empty container. “I need you to stay here.”

Daehyun opened his mouth to protest, only for Youngjae to cut him off again. “Yongguk can’t get in here on his own. Neither could you have,” he said. “I’m one of the only two people who can open this case, and the other is Kim.”

“They’ll suspect you,” Daehyun concluded.

Youngjae nodded. “Yongguk has access to all of our security. Well, he did. I have no doubts he busted the cameras to get up here undetected. But he left tracks, and those tracks are from me, because––”

“He set you up,” Daehyun hissed. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t think that was his intention. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now.”

They were both quiet for a moment, until Daehyun spoke again. “What are you going to do?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer. There was only one, after all.

Youngjae heaved a sigh. “I’m going to leave. Right now,” he said. “We’re running on the reserves from him right now, and when the plant switches to backup they’ll notice right away. I’d say we have a couple hours, tops.”

“I’m––”

“You are  _not_ coming with me,” Youngjae cut him off.

“Youngjae! I can’t just let you leave; not alone! We never split up. We can’t,” Daehyun reasoned. “Look, I know it looks like you did this, but you’ll make it worse if you run! They’ll just testify you, and you plead not guilty. I can vouch for you.”

But Youngjae was already shaking his head. “It doesn’t work like that and you know it, Dae. They’ll just throw me in prison, probably end up having me executed for treason against the government.”

“That’s not––”

“Fair, I know.” Youngjae ruffled his hair. “It’s not fair.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go by yourself.” Daehyun followed Youngjae as he moved back across the room and bent down to pick up Daehyun’s medical bag. He slung it over his shoulder and turned back to him.

“Daehyun, look. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to risk imprisonment, because I know it’s inevitable. We don’t have a justice system here. But I’m also not going to let you waste your job. You’ll never get a chance like this again.”

“Youngjae.”

“It’s my fingerprint on that scanner’s history,” Youngjae said. “Not yours.”

“But––” This time Daehyun was cut off by Youngjae wrapping his arms around him, and pulling him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” Youngjae said, his voice quiet. “I’m not gonna disappear. You’ll find me.” He stepped back, hands holding Daehyun’s elbows. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Wait,” Daehyun said, and then Youngjae punched him in the face, and he fell for the second time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, guys. busybusybusy bee over here :)  
> you'll notice that some paragraphs are indented and others are not. i did not do that. this website did, and i don't feel like going though 5k words to fix it all, so.


	5. Sedimentary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t believe you would just throw away everything we had.”
> 
> “And what exactly did we have?” Junhong challenged after a pause, holding Himchan’s eye, even though he knew that he was right.
> 
> “And there’s my point,” Himchan said. “You never appreciate what you have, and now it’s all gone. This is what happens when you take things for granted.”
> 
> Junhong clenched his free hand into a fist, stilling the other where it was resting in Jongup’s hair. He twisted the strands between his fingers unconsciously and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and doing everything in his power to keep himself from crying.

** Chapter Four **

sed·i·men·ta·ry

/ˌsedəˈmen(t)ərē/

_ adjective _

Solid fragmented material, such as silt, sand, gravel, chemical precipitates, and fossil fragments, that is transported and deposited by water, ice, or wind or that accumulates through chemical precipitation or secretion by organisms, and that forms layers on the Earth's surface.

* * *

 

_ November 12th, 5692 _

            Only the mages were allowed to hunt. Those without cloaking abilities would be in immediate danger if they were to wander any further than the surrounding meadows.

            Winter was approaching fast––faster than normal––, and Jongup shivered as he slung his bow back over his shoulder. It had been snowing on and off for the past week. He should have known to wear a heavier cloak, but the irrational part of his brain just wouldn’t shut up about how much the thicker material restrained his shoulders.

            His group had split up a little over half an hour ago, in hopes that maybe they would have more luck covering more ground. Jongup hoped that the others were doing better than he was, because there had yet to be a single pheasant or deer in his path. He was beginning to grow tired as he pushed his way through the brush of the forest. As the archer of his team, he was supposed to make a post in a tree somewhere and wait for something made of meat to pass him by. He could usually let down his cloaking shield while he hunted that way, too, being far enough off the ground that none of the deadly beetles or snakes would be able to sniff him out. He could put more of his magical energy into his shots.

            After making his way into a small clearing, he skirted along the edge of the area before selecting a tree to suit his assignment. After tightening the straps of the gauntlet on his right forearm and readjusting his leather gloves, he scaled the tree with practiced ease, and settled with his legs straddling a relatively thick branch about halfway up the trunk.

            “Ex clipeum,” he mumbled with a swift exhale, and the cover around his body broke, the magic energy that had sustained it returning to his body quickly.

            He only sat in silence for a few minutes before his ears picked up the sound of rusting from behind the brush opposite him and across the meadow, and he silently drew back the arrow he had strung into his bow before. He lifted it in the direction of the noise and held steady, waiting as the noise grew louder. A small, brown rabbit broke through the bushes, and Jongup sighed, but didn’t relax his arms.  _Better than nothing,_ he thought. The arrow whistled through the air and pierced the rabbit through the eye with a soft thunk, his shot going straight through and pining the dead animal to the ground by its head. All of this was well and normal, and Jongup would have simply reloaded his bow and reset himself to continue the hunt from where he was, if not for a loud, voice-cracking yell that pierced through the meadow the second the arrow landed nestled in the dead grass, coming from the same area of brush that the rabbit had emerged from. The sound startled Jongup, ringing through his ears painfully, and he jerked backwards, losing his balance and falling gracelessly out of the tree. Luckily, he managed to absorb most of the impact into a tuck and roll, but he still groaned in pain as he stood up. Most of the force had hit his knees, and he stumbled a bit trying to stand. His right ankle buckled under his weight, though, and that was when he felt the pain. He must’ve landed on it the wrong way. It would be fine, probably just a twist. He bit his tongue to muffle a pained groan.

            Had one of his fellow hunters strayed from their assigned path? He backed up, limping, and crouched behind the trunk of the tree that he had been in not even a minute before, and lowered himself down carefully, only to perk up when a voice filtered through the reddening leaves.

            “––hear that?”

            He didn’t know that voice. But who else would be out here besides the hunters and mages? It was far too dangerous for someone who couldn’t cast a thing.

            “Must be the source this stupid thing is going crazy over,” another voice said.

            Two? Maybe more? Jongup had no idea what was going on, but he wanted out. Getting up would make too much noise, though, so he elected to stay hiding, and he held his breath when he heard a pair of footsteps break into the clearing. He could hear three voices, now, all talking to each other, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything that actually left their mouths. He could make out a fast beeping noise and the sound of metal scraping against metal.

            “Well, go on, then, follow it. The source is obviously around here somewhere.”

            “Which way?” The second voice sounded a little shaken.

            “The way the arrow is pointing, dumbass.”

            Jongup hugged his knees to his chest. “In clipeum,” he said softly, and let the magic flow out of him to surround his body, sealing him off from the world.

            The beeping stopped, and the footsteps paused, only a few feet away.

            “The hell?” There was a rattling sound and then a thunk, and Jongup held his breath. “It’s gone,” the second voice announced.

            “What? Give me that.” There was a small scuffle and then a grunt. “No, that can’t be possible. A conductor like that can’t just disappear. It must be this stupid machine. Let’s still have a look around here.”

            “Well, what exactly is it we’re looking  _for?”_

__ “Gee, I don’t know, maybe whatever you think a giant power conductor would look like?”

            Jongup heard more shuffling, and then the second voice spoke again: “wait, what about that animal?”

            The other man scoffed. “Don’t get too hung up on it, Jae––”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “––everything dies.”

            There was a groan. “No, I mean, look. It’s dead. There’s a… pointy, sharp thing through its head.”

            “And?”

            “And, that means something killed it. There’s somebody here.” Another beat of silence. “Just, be careful. They obviously have weapons.”

            “Well, so do we.”

            “Whatever.”

            Jongup held his breath as the shuffling crunch of leaves came closer, seeming to approach the tree he hid against. He looked to the ground and realized that he had left his bow laying in the dirt next to him, quite visibly. It was too late to apply the spell to it; he’d have to undo everything, grab it, and then recast, and there was no time for that. He would just have to hope that whoever was over there would assume he ran, and left it behind.

            Sure enough, someone rounded the line of bushes at the base of the tree trunk. He was young; couldn’t have been much more than a few years older than Jongup. The first thing Jongup noticed that seemed off about him was his dress. It seemed the white material of his jacket was smooth and shiny, and there were strange metal bands around his forearms. His pants were also shiny, but black, and seemed far too tight, fitted like a second skin to his legs. He wore a thick belt, too, with multiple things secured to and dangling from it, all looking like they were made of metal. One was a gun.

            Guns were illegal, no matter the type. They had been outlawed long before Jongup had been born––deemed too dangerous to be put in the hands of the public––but he knew enough about them that he could recognize the holster. How had this man gotten a hold of one? As far as Jongup knew, most, if not all, previously manufactured guns had been long confiscated and dismantled, the material melted down and repurposed.

            Jongup shook his thoughts away as the man moved closer, seeming to have spotted his bow lying on the ground. He held his breath as the man approached, and knelt next to him, unknowing of his presence. He picked it up hesitantly by the string and Jongup wanted to shout at him to put it down, because he might break it.

            “What is this?” The man mumbled to himself, holding it a safe distance away as if it might suddenly lash out and attack him, or something. “Weird,” he muttered, and tossed the bow back to the ground. It hit Jongup’s leg, and landed on the ground in front of him, half propped up by his shin. This would be all fine and normal if he wasn’t invisible.

            The man stumbled back. “W-what,” he stuttered.

             _Please leave, please leave,_ Jongup chanted in his head. He was cornered, and if the man touched him, the spell would shatter. Figuring it was his best shot at scaring him away, he kicked the bow back at the man, who shrieked and leapt backwards. Jongup probably would have laughed at him if he didn’t have a gun on his hip.

             _Run away,_ Jongup encouraged mentally, then cursed in his head when the man stepped forward to nudge the bow with his foot carefully. When it didn’t jump out at him, he kicked it to the side, and Jongup winced. He scrambled back when the man suddenly pulled the gun from his holster. His back hit the trunk of the tree, and the man raised the gun. He looked more scared than anything, but that didn’t really make Jongup feel any less so himself. The man returned to the ground, on his knees, right in front of him, mere inches away. There was a moment of stillness as Jongup held his breath, and then the man reached forward. His fingers landed on Jongup’s cheek, and he flinched away, but it was too late. The magic barrier around him seemed to shatter in slow motion. He could see the eyes of the man before him flash through a series of different emotions before settling on defensive, and he raised the gun to Jongup’s head. Thinking fast, Jongup brought up his arm and knocked the gun out of the man’s hands easily.  _Inexperienced._

            “Wait, no!”

            Jongup pushed himself to his feet quickly, stumbling when his ankle protested at the weight it was put under. A hand shot out and wrapped around his calf, yanking his foot out from under him, and he fell back to the ground with a grunt.

            “Hey, Jae!” The other voice from before suddenly echoed through the meadow, and Jongup froze. “This thing just kicked up again. Did you find anything?”

            The man holding Jongup’s leg moved up and grabbed him around the waist, but Jongup jerked his elbow into his stomach powerfully, hearing a soft wheeze behind him as the arms around his torso loosened. Ignoring the flares of pain his ankle was shooting up to his brain, Jongup regained his footing, and he stumbled into the clearing of the meadow. He wouldn’t be able to outrun this man. And there was another one, somewhere. He would try to talk with them, and, if not, he’d be forced to fight. Jongup tried to swallow his nerves. He had yet to even see the other man, but he felt surrounded; trapped. He moved to the middle of the clearing, not turning his back as the man who had attacked him followed quickly.

            “Wait,” Jongup said, holding his hands out in front of him. Still moving, the man only a few yards away and closing in on him, he suddenly collided with something, back-first. Hands seized his shoulders from behind, and he immediately kicked backwards, trying to turn around. He managed to hit the legs behind him several times, but the hands on his arms didn’t slip, only moving down to pin them together at his sides. Forcing himself to settle from the initial panic, Jongup stopped moving.

            “Hyunwoo,” the man who had finally caught up wheezed with a cough.

            “Nice job, Youngjae. You found a person,” Hyunwoo congratulated him.

            Youngjae, with one hand pressed to his stomach where Jongup had elbowed him before, rolled his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, turning back to Jongup.

            “Who are  _you?”_

__ Youngjae blinked at him. “I’m Youngjae.”

            “You think he might know where it is?” Hyunwoo said, speaking as if Jongup wasn’t there, squirming in his hold. “The detector is going crazy, but there’s nothing here!”

            Youngjae narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, inspecting Jongup. His eyes lingered on the tattoos across his neck. “What are those?” he asked, pointing. “And how did you do that before? When I couldn’t see you.”

            Who were these people? How could they not know? Were they just messing with him?

            “My… it’s my classification. As a mage,” Jongup explained carefully.

            “A what?”

            “Mage?”

            Youngjae and Hyunwoo spoke at the same time, equally confused. Jongup stayed silent, not sure what to say, until the obvious explanation dawned on him.

            “You… you’re from the underground,” he said, jaw going a little slack. “Aren’t you?”

            “Are you not?” Youngjae tilted his head to the side.

            “No, I––”

            “Enough small talk,” Hyunwoo said, tightening his grip on Jongup. “We came here with a job to get done,” he hissed at Youngjae. “This dumb thing,” he paused, letting go of Jongup with one hand and pulling something from his pocket, “says it’s right here. Hey.” He spun Jongup around so that he was facing him. “This remote,” he held it up and waved it in Jongup’s face, “leads us to a significant source of energy. A generator.” He tossed the remote to Youngjae, who fumbled with it but managed to keep it from falling to the ground. “And it’s here somewhere. I need you to tell me.”

            Youngjae cleared his throat. “What makes you so sure he knows?”

            Hyunwoo laughed. “Look at him!” He jerked Jongup back around by the shoulders to face Youngjae. Jongup stumbled as his ankle gave out again, and he was sure he would have fallen to the ground if he wasn’t being held up. “He’s not normal; he must know something.” He adjusted his grip on Jongup, pulling his arms back with his hands wrapped around his elbows. “There wouldn’t happen to be an abundance of coal or oil here, would there?” he asked, getting a little too close to Jongup’s face for comfort. He leaned away, shaking his head.

            “I haven’t seen anything unusual. Please just let me go. I can’t help you.”

            “Would we find anything if we dug up this area?” Hyunwoo's fingers dug into Jongup’s arms painfully.

            “Yeah,” Jongup said. “More dirt.”

            There was a growl behind him, and he looked at Youngjae. “Look, I said I can’t help you,” he said. “Why are you even here? You’re from the underground. How did you get up here? I don’t even understand what you’re looking for. All our energy is hydraulic. We don’t use fossil fuels.”

            “We?”

            “Fossil fuels?”

            Jongup ignored their questions. He needed to get away. If he could get far enough fast enough, he could re-enable his cloaking and hide. His shift in the meadow was supposed to last for a whole hour, and it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since he had arrived. Nobody would be looking for him.

            Jongup watched as Youngjae puzzled over the remote. The beeping had slowed––though only just a bit––since Hyunwoo had thrown it to him. He turned a full circle, watching as the tiny red needle on the screen stayed trained on the spot where Hyunwoo stood, holding Jongup still. Suddenly halting, Youngjae looked up at him, and came closer. The beeping accelerated with every step he took.

            Jongup shivered as a breeze swept through the meadow, gently pushing around the hair on his forehead, and Youngjae studied his face.

            “Where does your magic come from? How does it work?”

            Jongup shook his head. “It’s not something I can explain. It just comes to me. From the ground, the sun, the plants… the earth.”

            Youngjae squinted. “You’re a conductor.”

            “I’m a what?”

            “You channel the energy of the earth through you, and expel it in the form of magic. Am I right?”

            Jongup swallowed thickly. How did Youngjae know that? He had a hunch he knew where this was going, and he licked his lips, choosing not to answer. He should never have said anything in the first place.

            “Why are you looking for a generator?” he asked, instead. Maybe he could distract them somehow and get away. “Running out of coal to burn down there?” He didn’t bother to hide his distaste. The burning of fossil fuels made him, and most other mages, ill, quite literally. It had a tendency to weaken their magic, and cause high fevers for them; even the triggering of lung diseases and infections had never been too uncommon. That was why it had been outlawed in the first place, but there was a feud within the body of the government, and it split in two. The larger portion migrated elsewhere, and the mages and their families stayed on the Great Plains.

            “Actually,” Youngjae said, ignoring Jongup’s question and looking over his shoulder, at Hyunwoo. “I think this is what Kim was talking about. You saw the set-up; I don’t know why we ever thought it would be some sort of machine. That thing is fit for a person.”

            “How the hell would that work?” Hyunwoo asked. “And why wouldn’t Kim have just told us that?”

            “Doesn’t matter,” Youngjae said.

            Jongup looked around frantically. What could he use to get away? Were they really going to try and take him? His magic was primarily defensive and enhancive, so it wouldn’t do much to impair anybody directly.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Jongup chanced a look at Youngjae.

“What’s your name?” Youngjae asked.

            “Jongup,” he answered, exhaling more shakily than he’d like to admit.

            “Well, Jongup,” Youngjae said, moving closer to him. Jongup jerked in Hyunwoo's hold, but his grip didn’t budge. He wracked his mind for spells, something,  _anything_. “I’m sorry, again. I need this job.”

            “Wait,” Jongup pleaded, now sure of where that was going. “I can help you some other way. We can show you––”

He nodded his head at Hyunwoo, and Jongup closed his eyes, crying out silently when something struck his head, hoping that he would see the scene of the meadow around him again, peaceful.

_ November 19th, 5692 _

            Junhong could barely see under the dim lighting in the train car, but he could make out enough to know that Jongup wasn’t getting a restful sleep. He was curled up on the cold floor, using his lap as a pillow as he twisted around unconsciously. Junhong didn’t want to wake him up, since he obviously needed the rest, especially after the struggle it took just to get to the train loading station, but he hated the way his face scrunched up. It was the same way it had been before they had detached all the cables and wires from his body.

            He laid a hand on Jongup’s forehead, frowning at the light sheen of sweat that covered it. His skin felt hot. Junhong sighed and, hesitantly, ran his fingers gently through Jongup’s hair. The color still had him marveled, and he found himself captivated in the shine, though dull in the car.

            He looked up at Himchan, who was trying not to pass out against the metal crates he leaned his weight against. The train car rocked, swaying from side to side. The lights dangling above them swung, and Himchan grunted as he planted a hand on the floor to keep from being knocked over. He didn’t seem too keen on speaking to Junhong anytime soon, so he looked away, and kept to his thoughts. They would be on the train for about two hours. That gave him plenty of time to beat himself up about what happened, so he settled for that.

Himchan beat him to the punch.

            “I can’t believe you would just throw away everything we had.”

“And what exactly did we have?” Junhong challenged after a pause, holding Himchan’s eye, even though he knew that he was right.

Himchan made an exasperated noise. “Gee, I don’t know, our jobs? Food? Water? A home?  _Not_  being a wanted criminal and possibly charged for treason?”

“I’d hardly call that thing we lived in a home,” Junhong mumbled.

“And there’s my point,” Himchan said. “You never appreciate what you have, and now it’s all gone. This is what happens when you take things for granted.”

Junhong clenched his free hand into a fist, stilling the other where it was resting in Jongup’s hair. He twisted the strands between his fingers unconsciously and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and doing everything in his power to keep himself from crying.

“Himchan,” he cursed his voice for cracking, “I really am sorry. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have forced you into this. I didn’t even stop to consider that.”

“I know,” Himchan sighed out. He looked at Jongup, who seemed to be shivering a little bit. “Is he okay?” He changed the subject, nodding towards the man on the floor.

Junhong frowned, and swept his hand through Jongup’s hair again. “I don’t know. He feels really warm.”

“Feverish-warm?”

“I don’t know. What’s the difference between really-warm and fever-warm?” he asked, pressing his hand back to Jongup’s forehead.

“Hold on.” Himchan grunted as he pushed himself up onto his knees, wobbling a bit as he half-crawled across the small distance separating them, and sat down on the other side of Jongup, facing Junhong. He pushed away Junhong’s hand and laid his own over Jongup’s forehead, frowning immediately.

“I don’t think it’s quite a fever,” he concluded, speaking slowly. “Might be getting close, though.”

“What do we do if he’s sick? What if he dies? Oh, God, what if this was all for nothing?” Junhong wiped his hands on his pants and then buried his face in his palms.

“Calm down.” Himchan put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s probably just having a bad dream, or something. Even if he was sick, I’m sure we could find someone to help him.”

Junhong took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay, yeah. There are doctors. Um, and we just get him home. Wherever that is.”

Himchan thinned his lips. “Yeah. We’ll do what we can. Now, please tell me you had something to cover your face while you were in there.”

“Of course,” Junhong answered immediately, pulling his hands away from his face and resting one on Jongup’s shoulder. “We paused the security cameras, too. They won’t automatically suspect me, but, well,” he shrugged, “they’d follow Yongguk’s tracks. They saw him. They knew him. But they won’t directly search for me. Maybe we could have stayed…”

Himchan shook his head. “Better safe than sorry. Who’s they?”

“Youngjae and Daehyun.”

“Youngjae is Kim’s secretary, right? And… Daehyun?” Himchan squinted.

“A medic. I think he’s the one they got to, well.” Junhong pointed at the bandage taped over Jongup’s throat. “Recently, too. Just yesterday, or, the day before… wait, how long has it been? I could hear him screaming. It was…” he sighed, not knowing how to continue. “I want to take a look at it, but I also don’t want to risk exposing the wound and getting it infected,” he said.

“You shouldn’t. If we end up needing to find a clinic for him at some point, they’ll take care of it. If not,” Himchan shrugged, “it’s probably fine. Kim wouldn’t hire someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“As much as I hate that man, you’re right. I don’t doubt he knew what he was doing.” Junhong returned his hand to Jongup’s hair.

“Now, this train’s last stop is in the town furthest to the Western end,” Himchan said. “I’m hoping we might be able to blend in there and find a place to live, maybe work, too, but away from the public and government’s eye.”

“West is pretty laid back, right?”

Himchan nodded. “Yeah, there’s not nearly as much patrolling.”

“What about him?”

They both paused, gazing down at the man asleep on Junhong’s lap.

“Just wait and wake him up in an hour or so. We’ll need to get more information from him, first,” Himchan said, and they fell silent again.

_ November 18th, 5692 _

            The days were no more than a blur. Nothing but pain and fear. Jongup got used to the syringes quickly, as they came at least twice every hour, and the needle stuck to the inside of his forearm had ceased to itch a while ago. Sometimes he would look up through the glass, dazedly and with drug-induced blurry vision, and see people. He recognized the man whom he met in the meadow days earlier. There was another one, who always seemed nervous; afraid. Youngjae was always with him, seemingly only there to unlock the capsule he was in so that the nervous one could inject him with things and hold his wrist to measure his heart rate. He frowned deeply every time, and spoke to Youngjae often, but Jongup was too busy dipping in and out of consciousness or screaming to listen in. He learned that the nervous one didn’t seem to like his job very much, and Jongup could understand why. The man was obviously a nurse, or a medic, of some sort, and Jongup’s physical health probably wasn’t exactly outstanding at that point.

            It was the strangest kind of pain Jongup had ever felt; the sensation flowing through his body in violent waves, taking his energy away from him before he had the chance to use it. He had tried to use his magic, but found that nothing would come to him. He was empty. He was barely fed anything, mostly supplements, and was hydrated with nothing more than an IV. He was only ever conscious for long enough to spend a few minutes screaming as the pain tore every shred of energy his body drew from the earth out of him. And that energy alone wasn’t much, anyway. He could feel that he was far away from any flora and fauna, so that which he could draw from them was only in the remainders of roots that stretched down, and the smaller insects that lived belowground. Jongup could feel that he was losing his voice, as well. His throat was parched dry, and every scream tore through it with agony. He grew to crave unconsciousness whenever he was awake.

            One night he was woken up to a sensation of sweet nothingness. There were no shocking waves of wrenching pain, only sore, aching muscles. His chest squeezed and cinched sharply with every breath, but it was paradise compared to before. He blinked slowly, eyes focusing on the ceiling above him. There was no glass over his head. He looked down to find that all of the wires and ports stuck to his body seemed to have been deactivated, laying limply. His biceps, wrists, thighs, ankles, and waist were still strapped down, and, when he tried to move his head, he could feel that there was something around his neck, as well, keeping him from being able to lift it. He flexed his fingers and winced at how stiff his joints were when several of this knuckles popped.

            Two people stood above him. He recognized them both; it was Youngjae and the nervous nurse. Or doctor, whatever, he didn’t know.

            “Youngjae, I really don’t––”

            “Stop it, Daehyun.” Youngjae cut him off harshly. “You know I don’t like it either, but we don’t have a choice if we want to keep our jobs, and our lives, at that.”

            The nervous man, Daehyun, sighed and looked down at Jongup, who was still just blinking tiredly up at them, not quite understanding all of their words in his groggy, confused state. Daehyun took a long, shuddering breath, and Jongup could hear metal clinking lightly before he reached up and injected something into the IV bag that hung above them, attached to a tube that was attached to Jongup’s arm by a needle.

            “Should only be a couple minutes,” Daehyun said.

            Jongup shifted his gaze to the needle in the soft of his forearm and he groaned as he was hit with a bout of lightheadedness. He looked back up at Daehyun, who was leaning over him, expression something that he couldn’t quite piece together a definition for. His lip was drawn between his teeth, eyes a strange mix of fear and worry.

            “Wait,” Jongup croaked weakly, staring at Daehyun, trying to fight away the dizziness that was clouding his mind, settling into a thicker fog every second. “Please…”

_ November 19th, 5692 _

            “Jongup? Jongup…” Something was pushing on his shoulder. He was pushed away from the bliss of sleep, and he tried to fight the discomfort of being awake, but the voice persisted.

            “Jongup, wake up,” it said. The voice was so soft. It reminded Jongup of his brothers. His brothers? But he wasn’t home. As much as wished he could be in his own bed, in his own house, the floor beneath his body was cold and metal. But that under his head was… soft and warm.

            He sat up with a breathless gasp, nearly knocking foreheads with Junhong on the way up.

            “Whoa, whoa, it’s okay.”

            Junhong had a hand on Jongup’s shoulder, and Jongup’s gaze followed it, trailing up his arm and over his shoulder until it landed on his face. He looked worried, and Jongup realized that he felt hot. His hands were shaky, and breaths were coming out faster than they should be. He became aware of just how much pain was coming from his throat, and how sore the rest of his muscles were. He was tired. The burst of energy he had used to sit up so quickly faded away, and any that had remained in his muscles also slipped away as he fell sideways, into Junhong’s chest with a heavy exhale that hurt his throat.

            “Are you alright?” Junhong kept a solid grip around Jongup’s shoulders, propping him up against himself in a sort of awkward, half-hug. Jongup nodded against his chest, still breathing heavily. He had forgotten until just then where exactly they were, which was… just on a train. Jongup had no idea where they were directionally. His usual sense of direction was completely muddled, nearly wiped blank. He could normally use the magic energy of the life on earth as a sort of map to follow, but right then, there was next to nothing there to guide him. They must be really far down. His head spun, not used to functioning without that energy. His eyes were getting harder to keep open, and he sagged more heavily against Junhong.

            “Wait, don’t go back to sleep yet,” Junhong said.

            Jongup exhaled in dissatisfaction, but fought the fatigue.

            “We just have to ask you something.”

Jongup had forgotten until then that they weren’t alone; he had forgotten about Junhong’s friend, Himchan. He looked over to find the man sitting across from them, elbows resting on his knees and his head held up by his hands. Jongup nodded at him, signaling for him to ask away, which he did.

“Where did you come from?” His voice was quiet beneath the rumbles and clanking of the train, but Jongup heard him clearly, and he frowned, unsure as to how he should answer. Would they even know of his home? Likely not. Urbs Equidem had probably cut education on the world above a long time ago.

Himchan unzipped his backpack and pulled out the tablet Jongup had used before, but he shook his head. That wouldn’t help. There was no way Junhong could recognize the characters for his home’s name, anyway. Instead, Jongup pointed up, towards the ceiling above them, and mouthed the words: Ad Altiorem.

Himchan blinked. Junhong tilted his head to the side, not able to see Jongup’s face from his position behind him, anyway. Jongup squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, painfully, before forcing a whisper out of his mouth: “Ad… Altiorem.” The words were stiff and scratchy and painful to even hear, let alone speak. Jongup could feel his eyes watering at the stress it put on his vocal chords and throat. And that was only a whisper; none of his voice had actually been used. It hurt too much. What had they done to him? Both Junhong and Himchan winced at his words.

“Stop. Don’t try if it hurts,” Junhong murmured into his ear, rubbing one of Jongup’s arms with his hand in a soothing manner. It reminded Jongup of his mother.

“But that’s,” Himchan took a breath, “not a real place,” he said carefully, looking like he was worried he might offend Jongup.

Jongup shook his head, and thrust his hand upwards more pointedly. There was a pause.

“How do we get there?” Junhong asked him. “We’re going to take you out of here.” He said it with such determination that Jongup felt the water he was holding back from his eyes thicken, threatening to overflow. He was already beginning to feel nothing less than exhausted again; the pain in his throat and the lack of energy was hitting him hard. He took a breath to respond, bracing himself for the pain of forcing whispers from his mouth, but fell into a fit of dry, scraping coughs, instead, which were each ten times worse than the one before. Junhong placed a hand on his back, moving it in small circles. The coughing didn’t last long, but Jongup still collapsed back against him again as soon as they faded away, spent from the convulsions in his chest and the ache in his neck.

“Water, Himchan,” Junhong requested. Jongup’s eyes were shut, but he could feel him lean forward and then back again. He took Jongup’s wrist and pulled his hand away from where it was still covering his mouth, and with the other pressed an open bottle to his lips. He managed to get a few sips down, which, despite being painful at first, helped a bit.

“Up,” he managed to whisper between sips. “Caves.”

“Caves?” Himchan’s brow furrowed. “Where?” He shook his head, puzzled.

Jongup took a breath but coughed again, and Junhong stopped him. “That’s enough for now,” he said softly. “It’ll be easier once we get off the train and find some place to stay.”

Himchan nodded. “We’ll be there soon. I’m sure there’ll be somewhere we can spend the night, at least.”

Junhong urged Jongup to finish the water. It took a while, but he managed to empty the bottle, and sighed tiredly as Junhong put it down on the floor beside them. Jongup became suddenly aware of Junhong’s arms around his middle, holding him securely, weighing him down like a tether to the world. Even though he was miles beneath his own world, the feeling was like home. It sent a pang through his chest, and he winced as his heart seemed to palpitate, but the feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, there we go! a little bit of background for you guys. thank you for being so patient with me and my update "schedule." <3  
> please let me know if you enjoyed! :)


	6. Igneous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will substitute Youngjae's position temporarily, until I find a proper replacement,” Kim announced.
> 
> Wait. Daehyun pointed a shaky finger at himself. “M-me? But I’m just––”
> 
> “I’m going to need all of my staff on this floor rounded up within the next fifteen minutes,” Kim cut him off. “But I expect it to be done in ten. We will organize an elite search party. I refuse to let them take that priceless generator away from me. It’s this company’s––no, it’s Urbs Equidem’s new solution to resource depletion. No place will be left unsearched.”
> 
> Daehyun sat frozen for a moment, his brain short-circuiting and refusing to compute what had just been said to him.
> 
> Kim raised a brow deftly.
> 
> “Yes, sir,” Daehyun said too loudly, scrambling to his feet and bolting into the hallway as quickly as possible. God, he didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified in his life.

**Chapter Five**

ig·ne·ous

ˈēɡnēəs/

_adjective_

(of rock) having solidified from lava or magma.

* * *

  “Um?”

Himchan turned around and promptly rolled his eyes. Not that he ever expected to have any other reaction every time he looked at Junhong.

They’d snuck off the train and around the station with ease. Well, Himchan and Junhong had, anyway. Jongup had had quite a hard time keeping himself upright as he slid along the sides of the building, relying mostly on them to support him every time he’d stumbled. The poor kid probably hadn’t eaten a decent meal or been properly hydrated in days, at least.

 

They’d made it into a large village-like area, dark and empty except for the dim, gray light from the ceiling, which casted everything in monochrome. There were no places to sit outdoors in Equidem––at least, not purposefully made for people, because who the hell would want to spend time with the so-called scenery––, so they trudged along until a nice looking rock came about, and Junhong pushed Jongup down to sit on it, he and Himchan on the ground beside him. Himchan took the opportunity to look around. It was early morning, and he knew that people would be out and on their way to work soon, so they would need to find a place to hide for a while. He glanced at Jongup. Maybe a clinic. A clinic was a good idea, actually. Doctors had secrecy oaths, right? It would be worth eliminating the risk of Jongup falling severely ill, or something.

Himchan slid his backpack off and quickly unzipped it. “Here.” He dug around, and produced a black face mask from one of the pouches, then offered it to Jongup. “I figured we’d probably need this. I was right, as usual.”

Jongup took it from him, but he was looking at Himchan quizzically, appearing to have no idea what he was supposed to do with the thing.

“It covers your face,” Himchan told him, sifting through his bag more. When he looked up again, Jongup was showing no signs of making progress any time soon, just holding the mask in front of himself and alternating between looking at it, and Himchan, confusedly. Himchan sighed and pushed himself up onto his knees. He took the mask from Jongup’s hands and carefully arranged it over the lower half of his face, sliding the loops behind his ears with practiced ease.

 

(It was a good thing that it was a mask Himchan was putting on him; that way he didn’t see the blush that was overwhelming Jongup’s otherwise-washed-out cheeks.)

 

Jongup’s eyes were wide as Himchan took his hands back, and he had to shake himself from staring into the shockingly bright, deep green of his irises.

“There,” he said, awkwardly sitting back down and pushing his bag to the side.

Jongup stared at him.

Junhong gave him a weird look.

Himchan cleared his throat and snatched Junhong’s knit hat from his head.

“Hey––”

“This, too.” He tossed it to Jongup. “It’s just… your hair…” he motioned uselessly, but Jongup got the message, and slid it over his head. Tiny bits of silver strands poked out around the edges, but Himchan figured it was better than nothing. It was kind of cute, in fact. “Kind of” being the most important part of the previous sentence. Just kind of.

Junhong grumbled and smoothed his fingers through his hair, trying to fix the chaotic mess Himchan had wrought upon it. Jongup gave a weak cough, muffled behind the fabric over his face.

Himchan sighed. “We should find a doctor for him.”

“Isn’t this a textiles-based district?” Junhong asked. “Where are we gonna find a doctor?”

“There are doctors in every district, Junhong,” Himchan said with a roll of his eyes.

Junhong’s frown deepened. “And what if the report us? What if Kim has already spread word that he’s missing?” He gestured at Jongup, whose expression was unreadable as he looked on.

Himchan considered that. He crossed his legs, rested an elbow on his knee, and used that hand to prop up his head. “And risk the reputation of his company?” he argued. “I doubt he’d make the case public. He’s probably enlisting some elite search party right about now.”

 

 

 

Somebody was talking to Daehyun, and it was really distracting him from his focus on trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier.

His eyes were squeezed shut, defiant to open and accept the reality around him. The floor was cold. And his nose ached. Because Youngjae had punched him in the face. Youngjae had punched Daehyun in the face hard enough to knock him out cold. Since when was he capable of  _that?_

Daehyun made a mental note to ask Youngjae just where, exactly, in that tiny body of his he was hiding such monstrous power the next time he saw him. He had to tell himself that of course there would be a next time he’d see him; getting punched in the face would be a sucky last memory to have of Youngjae. No way was he going to let that happen.

“Daehyun. Hey, get up.”

“I am up,” Daehyun croaked, and he forced his ever heavy eyes open. His surroundings were blurry and far too bright at first, but he still recognized the man above him.

“Hyunwoo.” He offered the man a smile, but he didn’t doubt it came out a grimace as he was pushed up to sit. Daehyun’s head spun, and he swayed to the side. He placed his hands flat on the floor to steady himself, and that was when he realized he was still in the generator room. Oh.

The floor was cold under him. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring Hyunwoo’s efforts to help him up, and rushed over to the capsule in the middle of the small space. His vision blacked out with fuzzy spots and he gripped the side, waiting for his blood to rearrange itself properly and adjust to standing-mode. He squeezed his hands around the edge of the smooth glass and took some deep breaths. Okay, first, establish the situation:

  1. The magic boy was gone.
  2. There was blood on his shirt.
  3. It was not his blood.
  4. Youngjae was gone.



 

Youngjae was gone?

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck––_

A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “What happened, Daehyun?”

 _Ummmmm._ “T-they took him.” His voice shook in what he’d claim in the future was faux panic. (It was real panic. Just not necessarily having anything to do with the reasons he was implying it did.) “Oh my God, they took him. I’m so sorry!” He turned quickly and grasped at the front of Hyunwoo’s shirt. “Hyunwoo, I’m so sorry! It wasn’t my fault, I swear! They must’ve snuck in while we were on our way back––”

“Hey, calm down.” Hyunwoo grimaced politely and pried Daehyun’s cold fingers from his shirt, then smoothed the wrinkles out. “If it was your fault, I don’t think you’d be knocked out on the floor with blood all over you shirt.”

_Not mine._

“Boss won’t be happy, no doubt. He’ll be here soon, by the way. I guess you don’t know that it’s about eight thirty. But he’s reasonable, you know that.”

Daehyun huffed. “Hyunwoo, this”––he gestured to the mess before them––“is not going to have him inviting me over for dinner so that I can graciously explain what happened. This is going to have him taking out his anger on whoever happens to be within reach. And that will probably me! This stupid machine was practically his  _child_ , and now it’s all ruined because I couldn’t stop them.” Daehyun buried his face in his hands. He was going to need to come up with something, fast.

“Stop that,” Hyunwoo hissed at him. “It’s not your fault. No offence, but, it’s not like you give off vibes that you could fight back if somebody were to jump you.”

Daehyun avoided his eyes, afraid he might either start spewing bullshit at him or confiding to him that he had  _wanted_  the boy to be free. That he felt like a monster for surgically damaging his vocal chords. Daehyun had tried to achieve only the bare minimum, but that boy might have never been able to speak properly again, and Daehyun had half a mind to find the nearest doctor (who wasn’t him) and beg them to do the same to his body as punishment.

But, he was still at Power Direct. Youngjae was on the run, no doubt long gone, and Yongguk, the other kid, and the magic boy would be wanted for treason against an official government agency. But Daehyun was safe. He’d done what he had been told to do, and he had the opportunity to secure that safety.

He was shaking in his shoes. His only friend had abandoned him, and he had absolutely no idea where he might have been headed. Not to mention there was a good chance he could slip up and earn himself capital punishment for “allowing” Youngjae to flee.

All he had to do was lie. He was just a medic, they couldn’t accuse him of being able to fight back and refusing. That could work. Or maybe he could tell them that Youngjae––

“Look, we’ll just go over to Kim’s office and you tell him what happened,” Hyunwoo said.

It was a good thing the eighth floor was generally quiet. For one thing, Daehyun appreciated the lack of foot traffic, but, at the moment, it was really more important that there just weren’t any people around. The only offices were the boss’s, Daehyun’s, and Youngjae’s. Daehyun didn’t like to call his an office, though. He treated it more like a storage closet or a break room. He and Youngjae would spend what little time they had on break in there together often. Or, they used to, at least.  _Fuck._

“Good morning, Daehyun.” Kim Hyunshik was as annoyingly composed as he always was. He wore a dark blue suit––which Daehyun considered to be far too formal for simply sitting at a desk for eight or nine hours––, a deep red pocket square folded crisply against his too-broad (in Daehyun’s opinion) chest.

Daehyun only nodded in response, his words seeming to choke nothing but a squeak out of him as he met the older man’s gaze. His expression was completely unreadable, as always, and Daehyun felt put off by it, as always. He shifted uncomfortably under his too-smoothed-over eyes for a moment before Kim was telling him to have a seat.

Hyunwoo, who had been lurking behind Daehyun and blocking the door with his body so that he couldn’t change his mind and bolt at the last minute, made to seat himself in the chair beside his.

“Not you.”

Hyunwoo’s gulp was audible, and he left the room in a flash. Daehyun jumped when the door slammed shut behind him.

Kim turned to him.

“So,” he began, “tell me why you were here past your extended shift last night.” He propped his elbows on the desk in front of him and folded his hands to rest his chin on top of. He stared right into Daehyun’s soul, and for a second Daehyun was absolutely certain he would be busted for disruptively-passive-witness tendencies, but Kim said nothing. Just stared. Which really was worse.

Daehyun swallowed hard and licked his lips, feeling a light, cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. “W-well,” he stuttered, staring down at where he was playing with his fingers in his lap, “it certainly wasn’t a planned overnight.”

The joke fell flat, as expected, and Kim narrowed his eyes, as expected.

“I stayed later than usual, as per your command.” Daehyun gestured toward Kim, feeling a sudden burst of confidence in himself. “We––me and Youngjae––completed the procedure you requested, and left the room to put away the medical supplies.”

Kim continued to stare, and Daehyun forced himself not to falter and look away. It took a lot more willpower than he expected.

“When we came back to make sure everything was ready to be locked up for the night, there were two people in the––generator’s room. I recognized one of them.” Daehyun’s stomach twisted and he barely kept his face from doing the same at the thought of what he was about to do.

“And would you be so kind as to inform me of their identity?” Kim leaned forward further, a smile beginning to spread across his lips. Creepy.

“The receptionist,” Daehyun all but blurted out.

Kim reclined in his chair. “Bang Yongguk,” he murmured thoughtfully, as though the man’s revolution was a surprise. Maybe it was, for someone who paid no attention to his employees.

“And how do I know you’re telling me the truth?” he challenged.

Daehyun could tell Kim was just playing with him, though for reasons he couldn’t come up with. “You’ll go downstairs and see that he’s not here today,” Daehyun said, raising a brow and folding his arms across his chest. The actions had their desired effect; Kim frowned at him. That meant he believed him. He didn’t seem the type to like it when people weren’t wrong about something he thought they should be wrong about while in his presence.

“Or,” Daehyun said a beat later, “you’ll send somebody down and  _they’ll_  see that he’s not here today, and then they’ll come back up here and  _tell_  you that he’s not here today.”

Kim narrowed his eyes even further, and for a moment Daehyun had a chilling fear that he might have gone too far.

But then Kim laughed. Laughed? That was unexpected and weird. Not unwelcomed, though.

“The other one had his face covered,” Daehyun said, hoping to close this branch of conversation.

“You seem certain that is was a male.”

He nodded. Yeah, Daehyun was… pretty sure.

“And do you think it was another employee here?” Kim pressed.

Daehyun hesitated. Pretended to think about it. “I can’t say for sure,” he settled on. “But Yongguk seemed to know him.” He shrugged, then added: “as soon as I got into the room, he rushed at me and after that I don’t remember a damn thing. Guess I got hit pretty hard.”

“And Yoo Youngjae?”

Daehyun held back the wince his face attempted to perform. “He was gone when I woke up. He––he must have been with them.”

“You think he was in on it.”

“Yeah. I guess he was planning it all behind my back. He did have the most information regarding the generator, right after you, so it makes sense he would be the most capable person to break him out.” Daehyun dug his nails into his palm. What other choice did he have? It wasn’t like Kim would just accept “they probably knocked him out too so that they could use his fingerprint for access but he woke up later and ran away, so he’s undoubtedly innocent.” Or maybe he would, but it was too late now. Youngjae had sealed his treason bill when he had decided to flee.

“I don’t care.”

Daehyun blinked. That was a surprise. And here he’d thought Kim would leap at any chance to destroy a man who defied his company.

“I will deal with him later.”

Oh.

“You will substitute his position temporarily, until I find a proper replacement.”

Wait. Daehyun pointed a shaky finger at himself. “M-me? But I’m just––”

“I’m going to need all of my staff on this floor rounded up within the next fifteen minutes,” Kim cut him off. “But I expect it to be done in ten. We will organize an elite search party. I refuse to let them take that priceless generator away from me. It’s this company’s––no, it’s Urbs Equidem’s new solution to resource depletion. No place will be left unsearched.”

Daehyun sat frozen for a moment, his brain short-circuiting and refusing to compute what had just been said to him.

Kim raised a brow deftly.

“Yes, sir,” Daehyun said too loudly, scrambling to his feet and bolting into the hallway as quickly as possible. God, he didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified in his life.

 

 

 

 

The buildings around were small but strong in number; there had to be at least fifty in sight, though most were connected to each other, so it was hard to tell. As he looked around, Jongup found himself missing home. He missed all the open space, the forests, the small but comfortable homes. He missed the sun, the moon, the stars. He missed his family and his friends. Everything hurt. His chest stabbed with sharp pain every time he inhaled, his muscles felt on the cusp of collapsing, and his throat… his throat was pulsing with fire. It was dry and grating with every breath, each more difficult to take in than the last. Everything felt thick, like the air was getting stuck in his esophagus, and it dragged along his throat like barbed wire. And while Himchan and Junhong figured out what their next step should be, he had time to think about it. His breaths began to go in and out in a worryingly-wheezy way. Maybe he should blame the air itself. He could literally taste the pollution in it on his tongue, and it made him want to be sick. He hated this place. This dark, bottomless place.

Suddenly Jongup felt very claustrophobic.

He was grateful that the mask Himchan had given him muffled the sound. Had breathing been this hard the whole time? It had hurt, sure, but now it was like he could barely get any air into his lungs. He brought a hand up to his throat, pressing softly. He knew what had been done to him. Could there be an infection? Or maybe just some swelling that would go down with time. Jongup’s vision narrowed suddenly in a small flash of panic, but he pulled it back quickly and clenched his hands into fists in his lap. He tried to focus on the exhaustion, instead, on the way his eyes didn’t want to stay open and how slowly his heart was beating, but that only brought him back to the knives that constricted with his muscles in his chest every time he breathed, which was a lot of times.

His magic was completely gone, too. He couldn’t feel anything––which was expected of the underground, but it was throwing him off. How could he function without his magic energy? Food, maybe. If only there was some. At least when he’d been kept at the company they made sure he was nourished––though minimally––, but now he was running on next-to-empty energy reserves.

His next distraction worked, decidedly, much better than the first. Himchan’s voice, despite being on such stressful subjects, worked through the disgustingly polluted air the same way Jongup’s hunting boots crunched on frost-coated grass in the late fall.

Well, when he’d  _had_  hunting boots to crunch frosted grass with.

When there had  _been_  frosted grass to crunch.

When there had been  _grass_.

He missed when he could speak. He wondered if he would ever be able to again.

_Don’t think about that._

Himchan, right. Himchan. What a spectacle that man was. Jongup did his best to pull his mind from where it was trying to clamp around thoughts of being stuck down here forever, being re-captured and forced back into that thing––

Himchan had wonderful lips. Shaped like a bow. Jongup wouldn’t mind stringing an arrow through those.

(Distraction successful.)

 

“We need to move soon,” Himchan said. “It’s getting lighter.”

The lights above them were, in fact, steadily growing lighter, like a fast-forwarded sunrise, but less beautiful. By a lot.

“We’ll just ask someone,” Junhong said. “When people start coming out to go to work, which,” he checked his watch, “should be very soon.”

“ _I’ll_ ask someone,” Himchan corrected him. “You and Jongup find a good place to… be subtle.” He glanced at Jongup, gaze lingering when he noticed that he was being stared at, with quite a bit of intensity. Himchan generally wasn’t one to be easily intimidated, and he really shouldn’t be by this tiny boy, but those eyes… they were dangerous. They’d probably look a lot more powerful if he didn’t seem so exhausted, though.

“A place to be subtle,” Junhong repeated. “Sure,” he gestured to the empty space surrounding them, “look at all the hiding places around here!”

“Go stand behind a house or something,” Himchan hissed.

“Or we could just stay at this rock.”

“Or you can just stay at this rock.”

People were beginning to emerge from their homes; the buses would begin to run their routes any minute. Speaking of––or,  _thinking_  of––, a loud, groaning vehicle rumbled up the road and toward the bus stop sign a good ways down from where they were. Only a few people were waiting for the first run, but Himchan figured he should go for it before rush hour.

“Stay put,” he said, dropping a hand on Jongup’s shoulder, and then he was on his way, hands tucked into his pockets casually and backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Here.” Junhong grabbed Jongup’s shoulders and gently directed him to face away from the road, in lieu of the risk that somebody might notice something was off about him. The mask and hat worked well, but they’d be fools to think it was a flawless disguise.

 

“Try to act like you’re not…” he bit back the word ‘normal’. “Like you’re not in immense pain?”

Jongup tilted his head at him with an amused smile, as if he wasn’t sure what to think of him.

“And––try to keep your eyes down, too,” Junhong added. He hooked his arm around the inside of Jongup’s elbow. “I’m sorry, this is probably harder than it sounds,” he said. “I’m having trouble walking straight and I’m just sleep-deprived. I can’t imagine… um.”

Jongup shook his head, brushing it off, but Junhong could see the way his brows were knit together in troubled concentration. He could see a light reflection of sweat on his temple, but decided better than commenting on it. Himchan had just waved them over, and he wasn’t exactly a man known for his patience.

They made their way down the sidewalk slowly, and somehow Junhong found himself cracking a smile. “We must look like some elderly couple who broke out of their community home,” he said, suppressing a quiet chuckle. Jongup nudged him in the side weakly, but he was smiling, too.

The bus should stay for two minutes at each stop, and, from the looks of it, a few stops had already passed. There were people inside, settled mostly close to the back, pressed together uniformly for optimal spacial availability.

Those at this stop were just approaching the door in a neat line as it slid open. Himchan met them at the end of the line.

“Keep your head down,” he murmured to Jongup. “You know you two looked like a couple of old people hobbling down the sidewalk like that, right?”

Junhong shrugged. “It did cross my mind, actually.”

“Okay, anyway.” Himchan cleared his throat and grabbed Junhong’s sleeve. “There’s a small medical center close to the fourth stop on the route, and this is the second stop. We’ll just have to sit tight and lay low until we get there.”

“Sounds good,” Junhong said.

Himchan looked at Jongup, who was still clutching Junhong’s arm. He nodded.

 

Jongup was falling asleep. He didn’t know how long it had been since they boarded the bus; it could’ve been five minutes or an hour. Felt more like an hour. The bumpy ride was a blur of suppressing coughs, trying to breathe without wheezing thickly, and leaning on the two men who sat on either side of him. His head fell on Himchan’s shoulder more than once, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kept his eyes down and his pain a secret, and that was all that mattered. The jacket Junhong had given him before they left was far too big, and it just covered the bandages over his throat when he zipped it up all the way. He kept it like that, despite how warm he was getting, and clutched the top of the collar with one hand for insurance.

Junhong kept one hand on Jongup’s shoulder the entire time, like he was ready to whisk him away at any sign of trouble, even though they were on steadily crowding bus and there would be no whisking away from that until the fourth stop, which… should be soon? Again, Jongup had no idea how long they’d been on the bus. He was putting all of his faith in Himchan and Junhong to pay attention to that. There was too much pain and panic he had to focus on repressing to be responsible for something as unimportant as that. Except it was important, which was why he was worrying about it, and he really needed to  _stop_  worrying about it––

“Here,” Himchan whispered, but it felt like his words echoed through the near-silent vehicle.

 

Jongup didn’t let himself sigh with relief until they were off the bus, but then he realized that they still had to actually get to the medical center. Ugh. Walking.

Junhong grabbed his arm again, but Jongup jerked away, a hand covering his mouth despite the mask already doing the job for him, and doubled over into a fit of coughs––probably all the ones he’d been swallowing down during the bus ride. Each cough was worse than the last, having left his throat even more raw and scratchy than it had been before. But each cough also made him need to cough  _more_ , which was the most frustrating part.

Jongup’s knees wobbled and Junhong managed to grab him around the waist before he fell, coughs finally quieting. Jongup took a few breaths as deep as he could manage, and held onto Junhong as he regained his not-quite-optimal footing. Oh, he felt lightheaded.

“You okay?” Junhong asked, moving his hands to Jongup’s shoulders as soon as he was sure he could stand on his own.

He wasn’t, but Jongup nodded anyway. He just wanted to get out of the public’s eye, maybe lay down and take a nap, or something. A nap sounded splendid, actually. He almost leaned into Junhong’s chest and closed his eyes right there, abandoning all the concerns that he should not abandon, but the sound of Himchan clearing his throat pointedly stopped him.

“People are staring,” he told them blandly.

 _Sorry,_ Jongup mouthed, but he didn’t think Himchan could read his lips. That or he didn’t care. Ouch. Ouch quite literally when his chest gave a particularly violent twinge. He winced and gently pushed Junhong away, nodding and then following Himchan when he turned and began walking again.

Jongup chanced a look up a minute later, sighing in relief when he saw that nobody was sparing him a second glance. Everybody seemed quite occupied with themselves. Jongup’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he turned his head to face the ground again.

It was getting lighter, but the imitation of daylight only made Jongup dwell more on the fact that, if those lights went out, they would all be thrown into an endless darkness and probably die. Unless they had flashlights, or something. They probably did, actually, and this train of thought was completely stupid.

After solving that problem, he moved on to the possible issue of the ceiling collapsing. Wasn’t that just charming. Jongup doubted there was a way to survive something like  _that_. Maybe if he had his magic, but down here?

 

The clinic, Jongup realized, was disarmingly white. He hadn’t been in a room that bright since he woke up in the underground. Junhong led him to a chair and he promptly collapsed in it as Himchan approached the front desk.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Junhong nudged him and sat down in another chair. “Not yet.”

 _But I want to,_ Jongup told him mentally. Damn, if only he could have been gifted with telepathy. Instead he coughed again, wincing and curling in on himself as the movement grated on his sore throat and squeezed his chest. His eyes started to water, but he wasn’t sure he even had it in him to cry.

Luckily, he didn’t have to decide, as soon enough he was being hauled to his feet and pulled down the hall. He nearly tripped over his own feet, and then Himchan’s, as fuzzy black spots clouded the top half of his vision.

He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, but he counted only two different doors before they stopped, and he was gently pushed beyond a third, at the end of the hall.

“She said the doctor isn’t busy at all,” Himchan said as Jongup let Junhong help him onto the exam table.

“Usually isn’t around here.” Himchan’s voice was a truly great distraction, but Jongup wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take before he finally passed out. His body couldn't take much more.

“It’s such a tiny place,” Junhong marveled, moving to seat himself in one of the chairs opposite the table as soon as Jongup was settled down on it. He had removed the mask and hat, too, and Jongup was grateful. Was it hot in there?

“Still bigger than the one closest to Power Direct,” Himchan grumbled from his own seat.

Jongup tried to focus on their conversation. Power Direct must be the company they worked for. Shouldn’t a company with such a large number of employees have a big clinic nearby? Especially with all the machinery they must have to work with. Jongup’s mind drifted. He could feel the persistent nausea coming back, and decided it was a blessing in disguise that he couldn’t eat a lot of food. He couldn’t imagine what vomiting would do to his already busted throat.

Just as he was pondering the possibilities, the door opened and Himchan and Junhong went quiet.

Somebody said something, but Jongup couldn’t understand the words. It was a new voice, a female voice, so he made an educated guess it was the doctor.

Then he heard Himchan’s voice, and then Junhong’s, and then the door shut. More talking. His eyes were downcast, staring blankly into his own lap. Now that he was sitting, he allowed his body to give in just a bit to the growing fatigue. He leaned back against the wall and his breathing began to slow, to turn steady.

His head was feeling light again.

Himchan and Junhong were still talking to the doctor. Or maybe it was a nurse. Both?

Had it been this hard to focus the entire time?

Jongup vaguely registered his name being said, but it didn’t sound concerned or anything, so he gave up and finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the long wait :( not too much big stuff happening in this chapter, but i promise things will really be kicking up soon. :D
> 
> will daehyun keep up his lies? maybe come to believe them himself?  
> is jongup gonna be able to speak again?  
> where's yongguk?  
> is youngjae okay?
> 
> so many questions. a few will be answered next time ;)
> 
> please leave a comment or kudos if you're enjoying it so far! (or if you're not, i guess; all feedback is good)


	7. Stratum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know someone who works for a company up in the North. He’s just a receptionist, though. Never any good with mechanics, and things like that, you know.”
> 
> Junhong and Himchan looked at each other at the same time. “Who?” Himchan asked after a moment’s hesitance.
> 
> “His name’s Bang Yongguk.”
> 
> Junhong blanched, but the doctor didn’t notice, busy skimming something on the tablet in front of her, for which Himchan was very grateful. Doctor Park sighed and looked over at her daughter, who was across the room, a smaller tablet in her own hands. “I haven’t seen him in years––” she gestured to Misun “––not since she was a toddler.” She pursed her lips. “He’s her father,” she said. “Told me he would come visit her. Never showed after that.”

**Chapter Six**

stra·tum

/ˈstrādəm,ˈstradəm/

_noun_

a layer or a series of layers of rock in the ground; a layer in which archaeological material (such as artifacts, skeletons, and dwelling remains) is found on excavation. 

* * *

 

November 12th, 5692

“Youngjae, come on! Please!”

Daehyun had been sprawled out on his bed when Youngjae returned from the surface that night, resting on his stomach with his chin propped up by his hands. Now Youngjae was sitting on his own bed, tugging his socks off. He threw one in Daehyun’s general direction. Daehyun yelped and made a noise of disgust, flicking the offending article from his vicinity.

 

Thick, orange, red, and gold expanses of land, filled with everything the book had told him about and more.

The sky, blue with spots of white and one of gold: the sun.

_Magic._

 

“You’ve gotta tell me about it, I’ll probably never get to go up there like you did!” Daehyun whined.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. “I can’t tell you what’s up there, Dae. I’m sorry.”

Daehyun sat up on his knees and reached over the small space that separated their beds and knocked Youngjae’s shoulder. “It’s not like anybody will find out if you tell me just one little thing.” He pouted, and Youngjae narrowed his eyes, turning away.

“Cut it out, Daehyun.” He shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “It’s classified information, and that’s it. I’m going to bed.”

 

As it turned out, going to bed really meant lying still in the dark and feeling conflicted. In all honesty, Youngjae had had half a mind to just stay up there; to abandon Hyunwoo and run away. He had wanted to give up on everything he had worked for in Equidem, because the sun had felt a little bit too warm on his skin, and the brightness all around him had made his eyes ache, and walking on grass had been difficult because of how uneven the clumps had rendered the ground.

And the air. It had smelled some sort of way that Youngjae couldn’t use words to describe. The aroma had seemed to be coming from some of the thick trees around them, the ones with dark green needles instead of red, yellow, or orange leaves. It had been… clean, but so much more than that. Breathing it in had felt like therapy, and the moment he had first inhaled it he didn’t want to go back.

When he had returned to Equidem, it felt like he was poisoning himself just by breathing. He had never noticed just how thick and smoggy the air down there was.

 

Youngjae dreamed of the surface the following nights, and it only made his longing worse. His memories of the land were already starting to get fuzzy, and the thought of them vanishing altogether sent him into a near panic.

He wondered briefly if Hyunwoo was feeling the same way. Maybe they could get out together, if Youngjae could just pull him aside and talk with him––no. That was risking the chance Hyunwoo would rat him out to the higher-ups, and he would be punished.

This would have to be done alone; he couldn’t risk telling anyone, not even Daehyun.

Youngjae rolled over in his bed and stared into the pitch black in the direction of his roommate’s snores. He wasn’t about to drag him into this. Though getting someone other than himself into trouble was the least of his worries, Youngjae wanted to spare him, if more out of pity than anything else. Daehyun was a good friend.

But Youngjae had decided as soon as he was back in Equidem that he would do anything to get back out, and in the end, towing a second person along with him would only slow him down.

 

November 19th, 5692

And here Youngjae had begun to think he’d never get an opportunity like this one.

He would need to find a way to thank Bang Yongguk later.

Youngjae knew how to get out of Equidem. He had, on multiple occasions, snooped around his ex-boss’s bookshelves. Carefully, of course, but it turned out to be worth the risk of getting caught in the end, anyway. The books were dense, and Youngjae hadn’t been able to read most of the older ones, ones that dated back over a century. The characters were complex and foreign to him.

The more recent texts had proven more useful. Kim Hyunshik happened to be in possession of volumes that even the National Public Archive didn’t have available. To the people, at least. Youngjae knew things that he doubted any regular citizen in Equidem knew, and it made him feel strangely powerful. He knew that there were people who lived on the surface; he knew that there _was_ a surface. He knew that there were animals and plants and bodies of water and stretches of sky larger and more incredible than anyone down here could possibly imagine.

He could say that he had been there once, and that it was beautiful.

There were maps in the book he had taken. Kim’s arrogance and habit of thinking he was invincible meant he never locked his office, and Youngjae had taken full advantage of that perk, breaking in and slipping out after he had left Daehyun.

He would have to study it on his way; he knew how to get as far as the caves, but from there he couldn’t guarantee being able to navigate out by memory.

According to the book, the caves were the only way out of Equidem, and the entrance was all the way at the edge of the Lower West district.

He wanted to go back, and now he had a reason to. In all honesty, he knew that he could have gotten himself out of accusations regarding the morning’s incident with Kim’s generator no problem, as his most trusted employee, not to mention his smooth rhetoric.

At first Youngjae felt pretty shitty for leaving Daehyun behind like that, but he knew Daehyun would figure he was doing the right thing for Youngjae; as long as he didn’t try to plead the truth. That would only get him into trouble.

Youngjae could go back for him.

And further risk his life? Further risk _both_ their lives?

Maybe he was being irrational. Maybe he was being stupid, and this whole thing was a stupid plan and it wouldn’t work and he’d only get Daehyun into more trouble than he would’ve, had he stayed.

Had he stayed, he would never have gathered the courage to leave.

Maybe his subconscious was convincing him to run away under the guise of getting in trouble when really the ulterior motive was just to get away. So, not maybe, definitely.

Selfish.

He didn’t care.

Would he go back for Daehyun? He’d practically made it his life’s work to never leave his friend, never to let him suffer if he could help it. But at the same time he still didn’t quite know why.

Could the adrenaline really be enough to sway his priorities so drastically?

Did he care about Daehyun or did he care about having company? He had always been desperate to avoid loneliness. It was something that never left his side as a kid, only had after he’d graduated from general education and been assigned his first roommate, maybe he could use that excuse to make himself feel better.

He’d been towing Daehyun along with him ever since then; gotten used to his loud presence. Tried to lead him to his own success only to meet resistance.

_He didn’t care about Daehyun. No, he didn’t. He would find someone else to befriend. There were plenty of people on the surface… he would just have to find them._

He had to learn that, in this world, it was every man for himself. But what if that changed once he wasn’t in this world anymore?

 

 

 

November 20th, 5692

Jongup woke to a scare, thinking he was back at the power company, under a thick glass case.

When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t move, and the only word on his mind was _no_. The ceiling was off-white, and the only things his peripheral vision picked up were walls of the same shade. He could feel there was something stuck to the inside of his arm; the IV. He strained to move, to sit up, wiggle his fingers, anything––but the only thing moving was his heart, faster and faster every second.

He tried to call out, but his voice wasn’t there; his throat wouldn’t work, and his inability to speak or make any sort of noise scared him even more than not being able to move.

No, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be here anymore, he wanted to go home and stay home and never leave his mother’s arms again––there were people above him. Two people. The ones who had taken him. Their faces were fuzzy and he squinted at them, but the clarity was stumped.

The glass over his head vanished; if only he could move, if he could run. This was his chance, and though he knew his body was weak, he didn’t want to let this opportunity go.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, the two men simply seeming to loom over him, just watching, like they were waiting for him to try something. _Daring_ him to move and knowing that he couldn’t. It was cruel, offering freedom right before him, finally, and he couldn’t take it.

They were talking to each other, but the ringing in his ears kept him from deciphering anything. The distant beeping was there, too, quiet. His chest felt heavy and constricted, like there was a weight over it, keeping him down.

 

And then he registered a distinct lack of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his body. His muscles were achy, but not tense, and his chest didn’t feel about to collapse in on itself with knives poking into his lungs. (As it had before.) The pounding of his head was slightly more under control. He was tired.

Opening his eyes again a minute later was like stepping out of a hazy dream. Except, he was laying down. As one tends to do while asleep.

He couldn’t recall where exactly he had finally passed out, but he knew for sure it hadn’t been this place. Not that this place was a bad place, necessarily; any place was better than that power company.

 

He noticed that there was a young girl in the room with him, her back turned as she arranged things on a nearby countertop. Her dark hair was short and cropped to her shoulders, hanging loose but messily and swaying slightly with every movement of her arms. She was standing on her tiptoes on top of a stool, and Jongup was sure she wouldn’t be able to reach the counter if her feet were flat on the floor.

As if hearing his thoughts and desiring to prove him right, the girl stepped down and nudged the stool under the counter with a loud scraping noise that made him cringe. She didn’t notice that Jongup’s eyes were open until she was walking past the foot of the cot he was lying on, and when she did, she jumped.

He held her gaze curiously, waiting for her to say something, but instead she turned and ran out the door, letting it fall shut with enough force that the panel of glass at the top in the middle seemed to shake. Or maybe that was just Jongup.

Jongup stared at the blank wall before him and tried to recall what had happened clearly. They had gotten to the clinic––that’s where he must be then, no doubt––, but nothing came after that. He guessed he must have passed out again or something. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.

A moment later, the door opened again, and a woman entered, followed closely by the young girl. Jongup looked behind her, hopeful that he might see some slightly-more familiar faces, but none came, and the girl closed the door again, carefully, that time.

The woman patted the girl’s back gently. “Misun, would you get the blood pressure cuff from the cabinet for me?”

It was easy to assume the woman was a doctor. She wore a stethoscope around her neck, and had her long, dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was holding a tablet in one hand, and a small, plastic medicine cup in the other. Jongup’s first instinct was to run, of course, the only thing going through his head for a moment being images of that doctor back in the power company, who constantly administered him with IVs to keep him unconscious and alive. But this was different. He turned to watch the girl, Misun, pull open the door of a lower cabinet and dig around for something. Somehow, the presence of the child put his mind at ease.

The doctor turned to Jongup and gave him a smile, then placed the little cup on a tray attached to the side of the bed. He could see that there was a nametag pinned to her lab coat––which was, strangely, a dark gray color––, but none of the characters were familiar to him.

She pulled a cheap, old-looking metal chair to the side of the bed, a whiney screech echoing as it moved, and sat down beside Jongup.

“I am Doctor Park Jangmi, Lower West District medical license number eight-o-two. That’s my daughter, Misun.”

Jongup nodded at her to indicate that he understood. It was all he could do, really.

“You’re Jongup, right?” She smiled at him.

Jongup thought her smile was too bright to be in the underground, and he nodded again.

She nodded back at him. “You were out for quite a while. I’m sure you’re wondering where your friends are.”

This time, Jongup just blinked at her. He had been wondering that, and it was kind of unsettling that she seemed aware.

“They’re just out in the lobby,” she said, waving her hand toward the door. “I already had a chat with them in my office.”

In truth, Jongup’s mind was still pretty fuzzy, and it took him longer to decipher her words than he would have liked to admit.

Misun trotted back over to her mother and held out the cuff. She faltered when Jongup met her eyes, and he could tell she was doing her best to not stare; he appreciated that. Jongup gave her a small smile and then her mother sent her across the small room again.

“I’d like to check your vital signs, now that you’re awake,” Doctor Park said.

Jongup let her take his arm, thankful that his jacket had been removed so that he wouldn’t need to do it himself. He had a feeling that maneuvering like that wouldn’t be a great idea, if the ever steady ache in his chest was telling him anything. He could practically feel the daggers hovering just over his lungs, ready to jerk forward if he so much as stretched in the wrong direction, or breathed too hard.

The doctor secured the cuff around his bicep, Jongup watching as she slid the stethoscope from around her neck and positioned the flat of it against the inside of his elbow, just below the cuff. Jongup shivered as the cold metal pressed against his skin, which he noticed was looking awfully more pale that it usually did. Maybe it was the lighting. It looked thin, too; he could see all the veins on the insides of his wrists, branched out in blue and purple.

His stomach ached, and the burn in his throat was building up again. Luckily, she was quick, the tight squeeze around Jongup’s arm barely registered among the rest of his body’s aching.

Doctor Park took his blood pressure, and then his pulse.

“When was the last time you ate a full meal?” she asked.

Too long ago to be healthy, Jongup was sure. He shrugged, not knowing how long it had been since he’d been taken.

“Your friends told me that they found you just yesterday, which was the nineteenth of November.”

Had it only been a week?

Jongup held seven fingers up, and the doctor frowned deeply. “Days?” She clicked her tongue.

Jongup was getting tired of nodding. At least she seemed to already understand that he couldn’t speak, probably thanks to Junhong and Himchan. That would have been difficult to explain himself. He hoped they hadn’t told her too much; that could be dangerous.

“I’m going to add supplements to your IV,” she said, standing. “Is it alright if I take a look at the wound on your neck?”

Jongup wondered if she knew that it had been a surgical procedure. If not, surely she would be able to tell right away. He was wondering a lot of things at the moment; he found it strange that she wasn’t questioning his appearance like Junhong had, or asking him where he was from. He could probably thank the roommates for that later, too.

Doctor Park joined her daughter in front of the counter, and patted her head.

“I’ll be right back, I just need to grab something. Will you keep Jongup company for me while I’m gone?”

Misun nodded her head.

 

As soon as the doctor was out the door, a tickle crawled its way up Jongup’s throat, and he couldn’t hold back the barrage of dry coughs that scratched their way out of him. One of his hands hovered over his neck, as if pressing against it would ease the pain, while the other braced itself palm down on the mattress. He needed to sit up, he felt like he was choking on air. He tried to push himself up, but between the coughs and the ache of his body that made itself more present with every flex of his muscles, and his arm shook under his weight.

Suddenly there was a small hand on his shoulder, and another sliding over his back, helping him up and positioning the pillow behind him so that he could lean on it. As soon as the coughing fit subsided, he gave Misun a smile, hoping she understood his thanks.

She just returned to the chair beside the bed, not saying a thing. Her feet didn’t touch the ground as she scooted all the way back, and she swung her legs back and forth. She was so tiny; almost frail, even.

 

Everybody had wide eyes in Equidem, but Misun’s seemed endless. Jongup supposed that it made sense for people to have naturally evolved with wider pupils after living in caves and deep underground for centuries. And it wasn’t just their pupils, the shape of their eyes in general was more rounded, while Jongup had been used to seeing his own sharper, narrowed eyes. He had noted the (comparably) strange likeness Himchan’s eyes had to his own (though they were still wider), in how the outside corners had such an elegant shape, and sharper edges than the other people he had seen in town, and Junhong, especially. Junhong had much softer, more rounded eyes; they gave off such a bright aura of youth and naivety that Jongup almost didn’t believe he could be just a year younger than him, as he had proudly claimed.

 

When Doctor Park came back, she placed a few things beside the bed, and quickly added what was needed to the IV drip.

“This should hopefully have you feeling a little bit stronger in a while,” she said. “I also grabbed some nutrition drinks, though I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to actually get down. They told me you were able to eat and drink a little, but that it was hard for you.”

Jongup eyed the bottles she had placed near him. They were opaque white, and there were labels printed on them that he couldn’t read. He had a sinking feeling that the drinks wouldn’t be especially enjoyable, especially considering how difficult it had been to drink even just water.

“Now, I would like to keep you here for at least another twenty-four hours, but there are a few… complications.” Doctor Park patted Misun’s shoulder with one hand, and put the other on her hip with a sigh.

“I want to help you, but it’s quite obvious you are not from around here, and you have no form of identification, let alone citizenship. I can excuse your care as a life or death emergency, but not for longer than twenty-four hours, and you’ve been here about five.”

Jongup nodded along, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. This had the potential to go downhill very fast.

“So, if you aren’t able to come up with the correct forms within that amount of time, I’ll have to kick you out.” The doctor sighed, and her arm fell to her side. “Honestly, my job is to make sure people are healthy. I just want you to be assured that, as long as you don’t stay past the twenty-four hour mark without identification, I won’t get involved in… whatever there is to get involved in.” She waved her hand around, as if swatting at a fly.

_Did they have flies down here?_

“And don’t worry about fees, I’m paid by the government at a fixed hourly rate. We don’t charge patients here.”

 

Doctor Park showed Jongup how the drinks worked; they were thick and reminded him of milk, but more dense. Each one was the equivalent of the nutrients and calories a meal would be, and she instructed he drink four over the course of the day, offering to supply them with more when they left for a discounted price.

That would be up to Junhong and Himchan, but Jongup didn’t want them to spend what little money they had on him.

The drinks were easier to get down that he’d thought they would be, the liquid was smooth and cool, actually soothing his throat more than irritating it. He felt miraculously better only a half hour after finishing the first one, and decided that, despite the gross, processed taste and the irritable consistency, he liked them.

 

“I’m thinking you’ll only need to wait a few days before eating solid food again,” Doctor Park said as she began to remove the bandage across his throat, “considering how easy it was for you to drink that. The damage to your esophagus is likely minimal compared to that of your vocal chords.” Her fingers were cold.

“I’m surprised that whoever did this used an incision to get inside…” she murmured as she peeled away the layers of gauze. “This type of procedure should be done with an endoscopy. I wonder if they just didn’t have the equipment.” She trailed off, eyes focused carefully as she deposited everything into the garbage. “Doesn’t look too bad from the outside.” She went to the sink and washed her hands, beginning to prod gently at the wound immediately upon her return.

Jongup winced and she apologized, pulling away and taking more supplies down from the cabinets.

“Well, it’s quite swollen, but that’s to be expected. I’m not surprised you’re in so much pain, seeing as they used incisions on your throat. Does it feel kind of like your choking all the time?”

_How did she know?_

Jongup nodded, and held up his hand, forefinger and thumb a centimeter apart.

“A little bit, okay. Now, all of the coughing. It seems to me that all of your symptoms can be directly blamed on your recent malnutrition, but this seems odd to me. It could be irritation on the inside of your throat, but, then again, I doubt they went in that far…”

Jongup shrugged. He really didn’t like all of these one-sided conversations. He didn’t like them at all.

“Would you like to see it?” She dug around in a drawer and pulled out a mirror, then held it out to him. Jongup took it. It was small and round, but he could still see his reflection clearly enough. He looked awful, and he realized just how badly he wanted and _needed_ to take a shower.

Short, black sutures stretched across an incision mark just below his Adam’s apple, and above his voice box horizontally. Jongup counted six. They were obviously still pretty fresh, the skin around the edges red and raised into irritated bumps. There was a line of dried blood crusted over the wound, which was only about an inch long.

Jongup inhaled deeply (well, as deeply as he was capable) through his nose, and put the mirror down. It looked just as painful as it felt.

 

Doctor Park swiped up the mirror and returned it to its drawer. “I’m just going to clean it for you, and then replace the bandage,” she said. “When you leave, I can give you a bit of supplies to replace it with yourself, preferably once a day for about a week.”

Jongup did his best to hold still when she spread a clear, stinging solution across the wound, and he looked away when the gauze she pressed against it came back red.

“I’d like to listen to your lungs,” she said after taping down the fresh bandage, and removed the stethoscope from where it rested around her neck, again. “Can you push your shirt up for me and lean forward a little bit?”

Jongup struggled to manage both leaning forward _and_ stretching his arm to hold up his shirt, but he made do, trying not to shiver as the doctor pressed the cold metal against his chest.

“Take a few long, deep breaths.” She shifted behind him and slid the stethoscope around and over to his back.

He managed two before a fit of coughing overtook him once again.

“Lungs sound normal, though your breaths aren’t very deep,” she concluded. “Your coughing sounds dry, but that’s a good thing, so don’t worry.”

Jongup eased back into a more comfortable position, still shivering at the cold trail the metal had left over his chest and back.

“So, a cause related to the irritation around your throat would make sense, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if it had to do with the weakness of your immune system at the moment. People are much more susceptible to illness when they’re as malnourished as you’ve been.” The doctor gathered her things and motioned for Misun to follow her out the door.

“All I can do for you is tell you to be patient,” she said with a shrug. “Other than a few painkillers, there’s really nothing else I can do for you, or need to do for you. All in all, I think it’s safe to say you’ll be fine and back to normal within a few days. I’ll send your friends in after I talk to them, and you can decide where to go from here.”

Jongup returned the soft smile she gave him, and raised his hand to wave goodbye to Misun, who turned to watch him as she followed her mother into the hallway.

He was relieved to know that he would be fine and normal within a manageable timeframe, but he also doubted the diagnosis, if only because the doctor was missing some pretty important information. No way could she possibly know anything about all that his magic had to do with this, and the fact that he probably wouldn’t really feel himself again until he returned to the surface. He had a hunch about the cause of all his coughing, too; Urbs Equidem produced disgustingly large amounts of pollution, and particulate matter was especially difficult to control. Jongup figured his body simply wasn’t used to so much waste being circulated through his lungs. It was probably poisoning him.

He knew he was lucky nothing had managed to infect him so far, but the longer he stayed down here, the more likely it was to happen. Jongup’s magic––the most ancient variety in the world––had roots in healing, and he knew that his immune system was vastly more strong than those without green magic, but it wouldn’t do him much good if he had no source of power.

The only solution to the problem was going home.

 

 

 

What d’you think is up there?” Junhong wondered Himchan, who was, falling asleep in the chair next to him, not listening. “Do you think we’ll get to see it? It’s not like we have anywhere else to go, really… maybe we can just stay there with him.”

Junhong had been rambling about the mysteries of Jongup’s world ever since the doctor’s daughter, Misun, had come back and tugged on her mother’s coat as indication that he had woken up. She had only been gone for what was probably about ten minutes, but the time dragged out viscously for Himchan, who was managing to both worry about their predicament and be drowsy at the same time.

Junhong didn’t seem tired at all, and Himchan blamed his youth. He had slept a little bit on the train, but didn’t the average young adult need, like, ten hours of sleep a day or something? Himchan watched the way he bounced his leg up and down, wondering what his roommate could possibly be running on.

They had given Doctor Park the most watered down version of their story they could in her office. Jongup had been subject to a procedure he hadn’t consented to, and could no longer speak or make any sounds without extreme pain. He hadn’t eaten in a while. Also, he was coughing a lot, and nobody needed to worry about his hair color or the marks on his neck and hands. Further questions regarding his background went unanswered. Doctors weren’t allowed to deny service to anyone, and Jongup’s situation was serious enough for her to prioritize his wellbeing over his background, which they were all thankful for.

But there was one thing Himchan couldn’t stop running through his head, and it was the conversation he and Junhong had with the doctor after she asked them where they had come from, and they had told her they lived in the Upper North district, which they did. Well, they _had_.

“Really?” She had raised her eyebrows. “I know someone who works for a company up there. He’s just a receptionist, though. Never any good with mechanics, and things like that, you know.”

Junhong and Himchan looked at each other at the same time. “Who?” Himchan asked after a moment’s hesitance.

“His name’s Bang Yongguk.”

Junhong blanched, but the doctor didn’t notice, busy skimming something on the tablet in front of her, for which Himchan was very grateful. Doctor Park sighed and looked over at her daughter, who was across the room, a smaller tablet in her own hands. “I haven’t seen him in years––” she gestured to Misun “––not since she was a toddler.” She pursed her lips. “He’s her father,” she said. “Told me he would come visit her. Never showed after that.”

Junhong blanched again, less subtly that time, and Himchan elbowed him in the side to keep him from saying anything. He coughed.

“You don’t seem to favor him much,” Himchan prodded.

Doctor Park sat back in her chair. “No, I do not.”

“We worked with him,” Junhong said. Himchan kicked him in the shin under the table. “He was actually the one who helped me… help Jongup. Kinda saved us both, actually,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I wouldn’t have been able to do anything if it hadn’t been for him. He left before us, afraid of… general repercussions and such, as we were.”

Himchan winced at Junhong’s explanation. “Does Yongguk have family here in the Lower West?” he interrupted.

Doctor Park furrowed her eyebrows. “Not as far as I’m concerned,” she said. “He was born in the Upper North. I only met him because I was sent to school there. Why do you ask?”

“He said he knew somebody here,” Junhong chimed in. “Someone who would help him out, being on the run, and all that.”

Doctor Park shook her head. “That’s probably me, I assume.”

Junhong’s heart turned to stone for a second. “And you haven’t seen him?”

She shook her head. Misun skipped back over to their side of the room and promptly seated herself in Himchan’s lap.

Himchan turned to Junhong, not minding the girl for a second. “He left at least two hours before us,” he murmured.

“Maybe it takes longer to get here by car,” Junhong offered.

“You can’t travel between districts by car,” Doctor Park interrupted. “The borders.”

Only trains could go directly through the borders.

“Maybe he just snuck onto the wrong train, or something,” he said, but they all knew that was unlikely. They all ran on the same list of stops, even the freight trains. Yongguk would have made it no matter what, had he managed to get on one.

“Maybe,” Himchan echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had MAJOR struggles writing this chapter, and eventually i kinda just decided i wouldn't ever really be happy with it, so here it is!  
> i hope it wasn't too bad or anything. i always get nervous posting my writing, but i just feel like i didn't do a very good job this time x-x  
> i'm excited for the next one, though, so hopefully i'll have an easier time with it.
> 
> thanks for reading!


	8. Seismic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen, Youngjae, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think somebody was torturing him.”
> 
> Torturing.
> 
> Youngjae swallowed thickly. “What?” Only one syllable and his voice cracked.
> 
> “There’s an incision on his throat. It’s stitched up, but not very well.”
> 
> Youngjae remembered how shaky Daehyun’s hands had been the night before.
> 
> “His face, when he saw it, Youngjae…” her hand on the countertop stopped drumming its fingers, and she looked back up at him. “He was already so weak. I think he knew what the deal was with his throat, but after he saw the wound itself, he turned from weak to broken for a moment.” Doctor Park rested her elbow on the countertop and placed her chin in her hand, holding her head up.
> 
> Youngjae nodded. Suddenly he felt a bit ill, himself.
> 
> “Are you okay? Youngjae? You look pale.” Doctor Park finally looked up again, and Youngjae schooled his expression, smoothing it over with a small smile.
> 
> “I’m fine.”

**Chapter Seven**

seis·mic

/ˈsīzmik/

_adjective_

relating to earthquakes or other vibrations of the earth and its crust.

* * *

 

November 20th, 5692

“He was trying to sneak onto on a freight train stationed by at the west exit,” Kim Hyunshik said.

Daehyun gulped and closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to settle the dust being blown around in his head. Bang Yongguk, the man he had seen not even twenty-four hours ago, was seated across from him, chained to the squeaky metal table that kept them apart.

Daehyun was exhausted. The only rest he’d had in about 24 hours had been induced by fists to his face, which was surely not looking too hot. He could feel the heat of the swelling, but at least nothing was broken.

Would he ever see Youngjae again?

He still hadn’t quite been able to grasp what had happened; losing his friend so suddenly, with no warning or proper goodbye. He felt like crying.

Daehyun’s leg shook, his knee bobbing up and down on its own accordance enthusiastically, and he opened his eyes to stare into his lap.

Kim cleared his throat. “I believe his name is Bang Yongguk, the one you mentioned earlier, and I now have much more reason than his absence from work today to believe he was directly involved with this incident.”

Daehyun could practically sense both of the other men’s gazes on him, and he looked up at his boss, trying his hardest to avoid Yongguk and not to cringe at the sick grin he was being given by his boss.

“We’ve had him for a few hours now, actually––just shipped in during our little meeting earlier––and he hasn’t spoken a word since,” Kim huffed, and Daehyun did everything he could to keep a small smile off of his face. Maybe… maybe he could lead Kim and the rest of the team astray. But even if he could pull something like that off, what was to stop Kim from seeing right through him and his betrayal after?

“So here’s what you’re going to do for me.”

A large, bony-knuckled hand clamped over Daehyun’s shoulder and he flinched, barely managing to not twitch away. The older man leaned down, and Daehyun shivered as he whispered into his ear.

“I’m going to step out for a few minutes, give you two some privacy, and then come back. When I come back, I expect you to have a few answers for me.” Kim’s presence crept away leaving a shadow behind, and Daehyun knew that by “step out” he really meant he was going to be on the other side of the door, listening to them. Yongguk seemed to have figured the same, though his eyes gave away nothing. Instead, he nudged Daehyun’s foot under the table.

Right. It would be weird for Yongguk to just start talking excitedly as soon as the door closed.

Daehyun swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Um,” he began, cringing at his lack of tact, “where did you go after you left the building last night?” The question was weak and of no substance, but it was enough to work with. “None of this will make it to Kim’s ears, I swear,” he said loudly to the wall, praying Kim wasn’t as smart as his degrees claimed he was. Hopefully he would keep Daehyun around to use him long enough for him to figure out a solution to this whole disloyal problem. If not, well. A bridge to burn later.

“Why should I tell you?” Yongguk spat at him.

 _Ummmm._ “Because I wanna find them myself. I don’t care if I lose my job, all I want is to punch that tall bitch in the face right back.” That should do it. Maybe Kim would find Daehyun’s wishes to be relatable.

Yongguk shrugged. “I suppose there’s really no harm,” he said hopelessly. “They’re gonna either keep me in prison until I rot or send me straight to death row, anyway. Might as well have those five coming down with me.”

Daehyun blinked. “Five?”

Yongguk shook his head and held up three fingers. “Us two who busted him out weren’t alone, you know,” he huffed with a laugh. “There were four other people with us, including the kid.”

“Did they all work here? Would we be able to check their attendance records––”

Yongguk cut him off with another shake of his head. “No. Friends of mine, and if you think I’m going to give you their names you’re wrong.”

“What happened to taking them down with you?” Daehyun muttered, and Yongguk rolled his eyes.

“We all split up. Figured our chances of making it out would be higher that way, so I went east. Alone.”

“Nobody else went that way?”

“Do you see anybody else in here?”

Daehyun shot him a look.

“Yoo Youngjae was with you guys?” Daehyun nodded his head vigorously when Yongguk tilted his.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know which way he went, but he took the boy with him.”

“Did you all sneak onto the trains?”

Yongguk nodded. “There’s a circle of four different ones around this district, I’m sure you know.”

Daehyun had not.

“I don’t know who went where, but at least one person is on each one. Except the one that I was, now. Shit’s empty.” Yongguk folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, as far as the chains would allow him to.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lower West district was exactly as Youngjae remembered it, which meant it was the same quiet, dull, monochromatic place it had been a couple years ago. The streets were empty, though Youngjae wasn’t surprised; according to his watch it was the middle of the workday. On one hand, it was good the streets were bare, but on the other, that fact would make him more noticeable if anyone happened to be out.

Youngjae knew he must look a _sight._ Surely there was still blood dried under his nose, and probably over his chin, too. He could taste it on his lips.

Youngjae had never broken a bone in his body before now. He decided it hurt a lot, and had quite the craving for some ice. But ice was a luxury in and of itself, not like he’d have any chance of getting some now, anyway.

He hadn’t been to the west districts in years. The last time, he’d had a low-paying desk job in a tiny clinic next to a large textiles factory, and that’s where he was heading.

It was possible some of the locals here would be able to recognize him from the time he had spent there years ago. He would need to avoid direct contact with anyone and everyone at all costs; it wouldn’t be difficult for word of his presence to reach back to the Upper North, were someone to reach out. People didn’t travel just to visit in Urbs Equidem. It was suspicious enough already just for him to show up out of nowhere, and during a work day, no less. If anybody was to recognize him, they would surely ask questions.

So Youngjae kept his head down and walked fast.

He had no idea what Daehyun would tell Kim; he hoped he wouldn’t try to prove his innocence. That would make things worse for everyone.

Maybe he’d try to frame him.

But that was so out of Daehyun’s character, he could barely even fathom it. The guy was too soft; too kind. He always had been.

 

 

There was a fit of heavy, dry, muffled coughing that echoed down the hall as Youngjae stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk. It was all so familiar, and he hated it.

The front of the desk was high enough to reach his chest, and he rested his elbows on the surface, peering over the side. There was a large computer and keyboard, along with several other office appliances, and a young girl was seated in a large chair, legs curled and hugged to her chest as she tapped at a small tablet on the table before her. Youngjae cleared his throat.

“Um, excu––Misun?” He should have been able to recognize her, but the girl had grown so much. Her face broke out into a large, wide smile when she looked up, and Youngjae was surprised that _she_ recognized _him_. After all, she had been… maybe five or six when he worked here?

In no time, she had leapt from the chair and rounded the side of the desk, colliding with Youngjae’s side, arms hugging him tightly. At her full height, she about reached his stomach.

After recovering from the moment of shock, Youngjae lowered his arms to pat her head with one hand. "Where's your mother?" he asked. Misun pointed down the hall, then grabbed Youngjae's arm and tugged him further into the small waiting area. He let her push him into a chair, and she held up a finger, signaling for him to wait, and then she was gone.

There were light footsteps coming from around the corner, and Youngjae leaned his head on his hand, tilting his face toward the floor. He wished he had a hood, or a mask, or something. For now he’d just have to hide his face as best he could with his hands while avoiding putting any pressure at all on his fractured nose. Damn that tall son of a––

“He mentioned something about caves, remember? On the train.” The voice was soft but nearing quickly, and Youngjae turned to face the wall just before two people entered the room.

“Well how the hell are we supposed to find them? What if they’re on the other side of the damn city!”

A heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Hyung. I think we should just rest and call it a day for now. Maybe we’ll think of something in the morning.”

            Somebody knew about the caves. They had to be the same ones Youngjae was headed for; he didn’t know of any others. He adjusted his hold on the bag slung over his shoulder so that it rested in his lap. The books inside contained the maps he would need to get out of here.

            Questions regarding the two others in the room of who, what, where, and why sped through his head, and his mind flashed to that boy from the surface, Jongup, for a moment, but before he could even process his own questions, the doctor appeared before him.

 

“She’s still not speaking?”

Doctor Park shook her head while she prepared the supplies to make a light splint for Youngjae’s nose. “She isn’t allowed to go to school because of it. They think she’s a lost cause, that she’s not smart just because she won’t talk.”

“Maybe it’s not that she won’t, but that she can’t,” Youngjae suggested. The sentence left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

“There’s no way of knowing, really,” she said. “There’s no problem as long as I’m working here. They let me have her around to help––no harm they could see in it, really––, and I suppose she’ll just stay here.” The doctor shrugged. “Anyway, how’d you end up with this?” She waved at his face. “And what are you doing all the way over here? I thought you had moved up North.”

“Oh, I––” why hadn’t he come up with an explanation ahead of time? “––got… into a  fight,” he said slowly. That counted, right? Technically he wasn’t lying. Except he hadn’t hit anyone. Not until after, at least.

Doctor Park raised her eyebrows and shook her head, disbelieving, but she didn’t argue. Youngjae was grateful.

“Well, it’s good to see you around again. I won’t bug you with any more questions, for now.”

Youngjae nodded, appreciative, and then stilled his head, wincing a bit as she shaped the splint to fit him properly. “Are you treating any other patients here right now? I know you don’t get much business.” So he was curious. Youngjae needed to find out who else was here; who those two guys were here with that had mentioned the caves. He had a suspicion nagging the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to believe it.

Doctor Park laughed. “You’re right. It’s a damn good thing I get paid by the hour and not per patient.” She grabbed a roll of thick medical tape with her free hand––the one not holding Youngjae’s nose in place––and began to secure the splint to his face. “I do have one person in right now,” she said. “But he’ll be leaving tomorrow, I think.”

Youngjae raised an eyebrow. “Has he been here a long time?”

“Only about half a day. His friends brought him here early this morning. He was in terrible shape.” Her face fell into a frown, and she returned the supplies to their designated cabinets and drawers. “I’ve never seen anything like it around here. He was so ill. Malnourished and dehydrated, so thin and pale…” she shook her head. “They won’t tell me much of what happened, but I have a feeling it wasn’t just a case of homelessness like we see now and then.”

“That––that sounds awful.” Youngjae swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes as she nodded.

“He’s extremely flighty, too. Jumps at every sound he hears. Absolutely abhors the needles. I had Misun watching him for a while after he woke up to make sure he’d stay put.”

“Why’s that?”

Doctor Park sighed. “Well, he… he doesn’t seem to be able to speak.”

Youngjae looked down bit his lip, closing his eyes. _Shit. They actually made it this far._

“I thought maybe he would find comfort with her, but he doesn’t seem used to it like she is. He’s frustrated, and––” the doctor leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice. “Listen, Youngjae, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think somebody was torturing him.”

 _Torturing_.

Youngjae swallowed thickly again. “What?” Only one syllable and his voice cracked.

“There’s an incision on his throat. It’s stitched up, but not very well.”

Youngjae remembered how shaky Daehyun’s hands had been the night before.

She took a breath, as if to steady herself. “His face, when he saw it, Youngjae…” her hand on the countertop stopped drumming its fingers, and she looked back up at him. “He was already so weak. I think he knew what the deal was with his throat, but after he saw the wound itself, he turned from weak to broken for a moment.” Doctor Park rested her elbow on the countertop and placed her chin in her hand, holding her head up.

Youngjae nodded. Suddenly he felt a bit ill, himself.

“Are you okay? Youngjae? You look pale.” Doctor Park finally looked up again, and Youngjae schooled his expression, smoothing it over with a small smile.

“I’m fine.”

 

 

 

Jongup seemed alright.

Junhong followed Himchan back out to the waiting area. It was mostly empty, save for one man in the corner, sitting practically curled in on himself.

“He mentioned something about caves, remember? On the train,” Junhong said as they sat down.

“Well how the hell are we supposed to find them? What if they’re on the other side of the damn city!” Himchan gestured in front of himself unproductively.

Junhong sighed. “I don’t know, Hyung. I think we should just rest and call it a day for now. Maybe we’ll think of something in the morning.”

Himchan huffed. “Junhong, we need some sort of direction, at the very least. There’s no way I’ll sleep tonight unless we decide on _something._ I don’t care if it’s even just what to have for breakfast! We don’t have time to waste sitting around here!”

“Fine, fine.” Junhong held his hands up in surrender. “But can we at least talk about this in––” he cut himself off when Doctor Park returned to the waiting area, then lowered his voice and leaned closer to Himchan. “In private?”

Himchan nodded, eyeing the other two people in the room. “Let’s go outside.”

 

 

 

Youngjae told Doctor Park that he probably just hadn’t been drinking enough water lately when she checked his vitals and expressed a bit of concern. He knew she was smarter than to actually believe him, but she only told him to sit for a while and leave whenever he was ready before excusing herself. Youngjae didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to leave. All he knew was that he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

There was too much guilt chasing him around in this place.

Granted, he couldn’t say for certain that he knew who Doctor Park’s other patient was, but… what were the odds, really?

He knocked back a few painkillers for his nose and finished the cup of water the doctor had left for him before finally heading out into the hallway, still debating his next move.

The other couple rooms were dark, their doors left slightly ajar, but one was shut, and stale, washed-out light spilled from the tiny window that looked to the inside. He checked both directions before creeping toward the room, and took a few deep breaths to slow down the pounding of his heart before he peeked around and through the glass, standing on his toes to reach.

He squeezed his eyes shut as soon as the figure inside came into focus.

Standing outside the room, leaning against the wall, Youngjae stared at his hands. The lights were weak and made his skin appear nearly translucent. He could see the veins that ran through his wrists from his arms and into his fingers, pale blue and purple.

Despite expecting to have racing thoughts, his mind was blank. The only reason he’d forced Daehyun to do those things was to preserve his job, and here he was, running away from that job, throwing it all away himself.

What could it possibly hurt more to give the man he had hurt so badly some help?

Being in a group would prove beneficial on its own, really, anyway. At least, that’s what he thought to sell the idea to himself. And having that boy––Jongup––Youngjae wondered if he might prove helpful on the way with his knowledge of the surface.

This wasn’t to heal his guilty conscience. He wasn’t guilty of anything for doing his job. Offering to help people and gaining the benefit of group travel was just strategy.

 

Youngjae made sure to affirm that the room was empty save for Jongup before going in.

Standing at the foot of his bed was strange. This was the first time Youngjae had seen in him anything besides fear, pain, or anger. He was asleep, still––as he had been for the majority of the time when Youngjae was responsible for him––, but, to put it bluntly, he looked more comfortable when he wasn’t hooked up to a machine that converted the magic energy the earth sent through his body into electricity to power a city.

Youngjae didn’t blame him.

The IV in Jongup’s arm was a regular saline solution for hydration. No sedatives. He had fallen asleep without drugs, on his own. Most probably out of exhaustion. Youngjae noted that the bandage across his throat was fresh, and much better-looking than the one he had watched Daehyun apply with shaky hands only hours earlier.

It would be better if Youngjae avoided thinking about Daehyun. It would be better if he avoided thinking about the past few days at all, really.

 

Ever since he’d first seen Jongup, Youngjae had been beyond curious about the entirety of his appearance. He wanted to know more about the magic he’d seen, too. The way Jongup had been able to hide himself from them… was that normal up there? Could everybody on the surface do that? None of the books he’d found had even a single sentence written on the matter. He wondered all the same about the twin compass roses on Jongup’s neck. They looked just like the ones on the old maps. He’d noticed a few marks on his hands, too, but had never taken a close look. He moved to the side of the bed, and, next to Jongup, he bent down to look at them. He found no answers. The symbols were completely foreign to him where they decorated each of his fingers, just below his nail beds. He wondered briefly if they might have anything to do with the magic.

Youngjae sighed and dropped down into the metal chair beside the bed.

The two people who had brought Jongup in must be Yongguk and that other kid who was with him. The tall one, who had knocked out Daehyun and then punched Youngjae in the nose hard enough that he fell unconscious, too. If they were still in the lobby, maybe he could manage a civil conversation. Jongup surely wouldn’t be capable of such things in his sleep.

 _Like he could if he was awake?_ Youngjae gritted his teeth as that angry, guilty part of his brain fired back.

He wasn’t doing this to clear his conscience; he was doing this to be free. He was doing this to get out of this repulsive, evil city. He was doing this for himself. He might need to exaggerate his reasoning for wishing to travel with them, but he could make do.

 

 

Junhong had been expecting a lot of things. He had a habit of always assuming the worst possible outcome for most situations; that way he’d never find himself disappointed with the results. Usually this worked best at his job as an engineer.

This was not engineering, and he was in no way prepared for what he found when he returned to Jongup’s room again to make sure he was still asleep. The plan had been to check on Jongup, go back and grab Himchan, then, somehow, both squeeze onto the bed and try to sleep as best they could. Technically they didn’t exactly have permission to do this, but they also hadn’t been _told_ they couldn’t.

 

It hadn’t even been a full day since Junhong had last seen Youngjae, not to mention the fact that the last time consisted mostly of punching him in the face.

Needless to say, he froze when he opened the door and the figure beside Jongup’s bed jerked and whipped his head around.

“You,” Junhong accused. His voice was quiet but it roared in his own ears next to the eerie silence of the clinic. Doctor Park had retreated into her office after putting Misun to bed on the second floor, which served as their home.

“You,” Youngjae echoed back at him, less enthusiastically. “I figured you were here.”

Junhong raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall, trying not to give any of his true panic away. “Why’s that?” he asked, voice steady and neutral.

“If my memory serves me right, you’re the kid who helped Yongguk break into HS Electric to steal something––”

“Some _one.”_

Youngjae waved his hand dismissively. “And you hit Daehyun.”

 _The nervous medic._ “Then I hit you,” Junhong spat.

“Then you hit me.”

“What happened to your face?” he asked, despite the fact that his previous statement implied he knew full well what had happened to his face. Did this count as mocking?

Youngjae’s mouth twisted into a frown and his eyes narrowed. “Fractured nose,” he murmured distractedly, as if his train of thought was taking a detour somewhere all of a sudden.

“And you’re here to take Jongup back,” Junhong assumed. “We won’t let you.”

Youngjae opened his mouth to object, but Junhong kept talking, not letting him get even a word in. He stalked up to Youngjae and leaned over, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest.

“Look at him. _Look at him._ Do you see those bags under his eyes? How thin his wrists look? He’s dehydrated, malnourished, orthostatic––I don’t know what that means, actually, but it’s not a good thing––, he’s got low blood pressure, his heartrate is too slow and too fast at the same time!––This is your fault. You did this.”

“I’m not––”

“I don’t care.” Junhong’s voice rose, and he loomed over Youngjae, satisfied as the shorter man leaned back. “He could have died, Youngjae _hyung._ He could have died, and it would’ve been your fault.”

Youngjae’s eyes flicked past Junhong and over to the man asleep on the bed, and then back to the fiery gaze on him. “Why do you care?” he asked. “It’s not like you know him. He’s not your friend.”

“That’s exactly your fucking problem!” Junhong shout-whispered. “Why did you do this? How could you possibly be telling yourself that it’s okay to slowly kill someone just because your boss tells you to? How could that possibly justify actually doing it? Do you care about anything other than yourself and your stupid job? And that friend of yours.” Junhong stepped back and paced across the room after taking a deep, shuttering breath. “He’s the one who––he’s the one who did that surgery, right? The one who took Jongup’s _voice_ away from him.” Junhong scoffed and rubbed his face with his palm.

“You’re assuming he _wanted_ to do that,” Youngjae shot back, and Junhong whipped around.

“I’m assuming that the both of you care so much about your jobs you’ll do _anything_ to keep them! This is absolutely inhumane! I’m not going to let you take him back there.”

Youngjae bit his tongue to keep from defending himself. “You’re too empathetic,” he muttered quietly. Junhong didn’t seem to hear him from the other side of the tiny room. A change of topic might do them well, but, “I’m not here to take him back,” he said.

Junhong’s expression didn’t change. “Right,” he said, unbelieving. Couldn’t blame him.

“Hear me out,” Youngjae pleaded. He shifted and unbuckled his bag, pulling out one of the books. It was an older one that he couldn’t read, but it contained the map to and through the caves that led to the surface. He tossed it to Junhong, who stared at the cover, puzzled.

“Go on,” Youngjae encouraged. “Open it. The bookmarked page.”

Junhong slowly flipped through the pages, staring at them in a mixture of confusion, fascination, and distrust until he reached the one Youngjae had marked. He kept glancing up from the pages, eyes darting around between Youngjae and Jongup as if Youngjae might attempt to snatch him right out from underneath his nose, but Youngjae knew when he saw the map, because his eyes went wide and he kept his head glued down.

“This…” Junhong blinked widely at the page. “This is a map, right?”

It was understandable that he might not recognize the format; maps had changed quite a formidable amount since this particular one had been cartographed. Youngjae nodded.

“Why are you showing this to me?” Junhong lowered the book. He was aware of books like this, but he had never actually seen let alone _held_ one before; most people stuck exclusively to the tablets for reading. The book felt weird, and the pages were so thin, they felt breakable. The book _smelled_ weird.

Youngjae sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m showing you this because it leads out of here.”

There was a pause.

“… what do you mean, it leads out of here?”

“To the surface. As far as I know, it’s the only one of its kind.”

Junhong looked back down at the book. The characters were old, traditional ones. “Maybe Jongup can read this.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but Youngjae didn’t seem at all fazed by the statement.

Junhong slowly looked back up. “And you’re giving it to me?” He’d never been so confused in his life, and it got even worse when Youngjae nodded. “Temporarily,” he clarified. “Look. Just to make myself clear, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this so that I can get out of here.”

“What if I say we don’t want you to come with us?”

Youngjae’s expression didn’t waver. “Then I’ll lead the boss right to you.” He was lying, but he was sure Junhong didn’t know it as his eyes searched his face.

“I… I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to say to all this,” Junhong admitted. “I don’t trust even a shred of you. How did you just show up here? You must have followed us. I bet you must just be stalling, shit. This,” he waved the book, “is probably fake bullshit. Kim and his guys are probably waiting outside right now, aren’t they? Just waiting for the signal to storm in.” Junhong began pacing around the room again, breaths speeding up.

“No, calm down, I’m not working with Kim,” Youngjae said.

“Like I’ll just believe that!”

“I promise, my only interest is in myself.” Youngjae held his hands up. “I just want to get out of here, too. We have that in common.”

Junhong turned back to him again, and Youngjae had to stop himself from reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Youngjae admitted. “Listen, when I––” he was cut off as Junhong suddenly gipped his forearm tightly and briefly stared at Youngjae, who stared back, chewing his lip in surprise.

“Jongup, you should go back to sleep,” Junhong said, mouth pulled tight.

Youngjae proceeded to stare at the wall, frozen. He hadn’t planned on actually _facing_ Jongup, which, upon further reflection, was stupid, because of course he wouldn’t be able to avoid that if he wanted to do this. _Shit._

 

 

 

In Himchan’s future opinion, he chose the perfect time to enter Jongup’s room in the clinic.

He stood frozen in the doorway, too shocked to move at first. That was Yoo Youngjae standing in the far corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest in a manner that seemed more fitting for a grumpy child. He leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, and had a splint over his nose.

Himchan narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking over to see Junhong sitting beside Jongup, who was clinging to him from behind, face buried in the back of his shoulder. Junhong looked at him helplessly, but he could tell he was also massively relieved to see him. Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

Himchan shut the door behind him silently before speaking. “Junhong told me about you.”

He kept his eyes trained on Youngjae, but his peripheral vision didn’t miss the way Jongup’s head jerked up at the sound of his voice. He probably hadn’t noticed him enter. He seemed to relax the slightest bit now that there was one more person between him and the man who had taken him from his home and leeched him of his life.

Jongup was still in pretty bad shape, but he was improving fast, and Himchan was glad for that, but he hadn’t seen him look so afraid like this before. Well, in the single day he’s known him, which is not an especially long time to know someone for. The IV was still tucked into his forearm, and Himchan thought he was looking a lot less pale than when they’d first met.

 

Youngjae didn’t say anything, merely raising his eyebrows in response to Himchan’s opening statement.

“What are you doing here?” the other man pressed.

“Despite what I’m certain you’re all thinking, I didn’t follow you here. I never meant to ever run into you again.”

Himchan nodded, encouraging him to continue.

Youngjae sighed. “When I went to the surface, I didn’t want to come back here,” he said. “I decided that, no matter what, I’d go back, and I’d stay there.”

“Then why did you come back _here?_ You could’ve just stayed there the first time you went,” Himchan argued, but Youngjae was already shaking his head.

“I wasn’t alone. There’s no way. I didn’t have enough time to think about that, anyway. We were barely up for an hour.”

“What were you doing there? How did you even get there?”

Youngjae tried to play off his hesitation, but Himchan saw right through the way he smoothed his face over.

“I was sent there by my boss. To retrieve something for him.”

“Right.”

“We were given a specially engineered detector device. They never told us what exactly we were looking for. Just to follow the machine. I had no idea that we were really doing.”

“And you still did it once you found out.”

“I was doing my job.”

“Why are you here?” Himchan didn’t want to waste time arguing over this. Nothing productive would be made of that. It would be best to get to the point.

“I’m here because I want to join you guys.”

Himchan rose an eyebrow and craned his neck to look at Junhong. He shrugged back at him.

“And can you give me one good reason we should even be speaking to you right now?”

Youngjae pointed at Junhong. “That book he’s holding,” he said. “Has a map that can get us out of here. But it’s written in an ancient language, one that Junhong thinks Jongup can read. I’m willing to share the map with you if he can help with translating.”

Himchan bit his lip. “Junhonggie––”

“Listen,” Youngjae drew his attention back to him. “Without that map, you three aren’t getting out of here. And without him––” he pointed at Jongup “––I’m not getting out of here, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW i've been brewing over this for DAYS!i just could not feel satisfied with it, but that always happens, doesn't it? ah well.  
> i hope you're all having fun <3  
> let me know what you think! :D


	9. Magma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the people beside him––Junhong and Himchan, not Youngjae––, Jongup almost felt bad. They hadn’t even known that the surface was a real place; they were practically held underground against their will without even knowing it wasn’t the only option. They had never been presented with a choice. Okay, so all that probably applied to Youngjae, too. Whatever.
> 
> When they first met, Youngjae had claimed that his best interest was in his job. The fact that he had kidnapped and tortured Jongup just to keep a job was nothing short of selfish. Youngjae was nothing short of selfish.
> 
> There was still a real risk that he was just faking everything; that he was planning on leading them straight to the ones who were looking for Jongup, and that he would be taken away, back to the power plant where he’d spend the rest of his life screaming silently.  
> He just had to believe in the chance that he wouldn't.

**Chapter Eight**

mag·ma

/ˈmaɡmə/

_noun_

a mixture of molten rock, volatiles, and solids that is found beneath the surface of the earth.

 

November 20th, 5692

After a few minutes of an intense stare-down between himself and Youngjae, Jongup finally decided that the other man probably wasn’t going to try to attack him. He managed to tear his gaze away from him––though not without the occasional glance back up thereon out.

He was still mostly hidden by Junhong, so he put one hand on his shoulder and peered over it, resting his chin on his knuckles. The book that Junhong had laid open in his lap was old. The pages were crinkly and yellowed, darker around the edges, and he could smell the dusty paper already. The map itself was easy enough to understand; in the corner was a fancy compass rose, intricately designed and not unlike the two on Jongup’s neck.

He found their location easily enough. Well, if his figuring that the text labeling a small building “Lower West Textile Medical Practice” was correct. The building must have been old if it was on a map was labeled with traditional characters.

Jongup wasn’t used to maps. He’d never really needed them, because green magic had a way of giving its mages their own internal compasses, but down here, below the surface, Jongup couldn’t feel anything. The absence of the constant thrum of energy beneath his feet was strange and still foreign. He felt cold.

“Can you read it?” Junhong turned toward him, close enough that Jongup could see each individual eyelash. He nodded, still distracted by his own thoughts.

Junhong licked his lips. “There’s, um…” his eyes fell back to the book, watching as Jongup turned the page, tracing his fingers from line to line. What was he going to say?

After a moment Jongup looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Junhong seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.

“Oh, right. There’s nothing, like, vitally important to our journey and survival in that, is there? Something that might blow this whole entire thing and ruin all of our plans if we don’t know about it?” Junhong chewed on his lower lip.

Jongup shook his head no. It was just a history book. The map was matched with a description of the earliest architecture that had been built in Urbs Equidem, including the building they were in right now. The Lower West district turned out to be the oldest part of the giant city. It had been founded over 200 years ago, in the first spot that had been dug out by those who were now known as the Equids, when they eventually––after several years of debate and political argument and violence––decided to separate from the majority of the population, whom they referred to as “dirty clean-energy-users,” which Jongup honestly found more amusing than anything else he had seen so far. It didn’t surprise him that most of the stuff recorded had quite obviously been written by someone who had been biased against the Altiorans.

This account made them look evil. In Jongup’s opinion, neither the Altiorans nor the Equids were “bad guys” necessarily, but that’s not to say he wasn’t biased toward one or the other, either. Especially after his first experience with the Equids. That hadn’t exactly helped to ease his initial suspicions of the mysterious people.

But looking at those beside him––Junhong and Himchan, not Youngjae––, he almost felt bad for them. They hadn’t even known that the surface was a real place, they were practically held underground against their will without even knowing it wasn’t the only option. They had never been presented with a choice. Okay, so all that probably applied to Youngjae, too. Whatever.

Jongup wasn’t sure how to feel about him. When they first met, Youngjae had claimed that his best interest was in his job. The fact that he had kidnapped and tortured Jongup just to keep a job was nothing short of selfish. _Youngjae_ was nothing short of selfish.

There was still a real risk that he was just faking everything; that he was planning on leading them straight to the ones who were looking for Jongup, and that he would be taken away, back to the power plant where he’d spend the rest of his life screaming silently. He just had to believe in the chance that Youngjae wouldn't.

But Jongup thought that odds of that coming true were low. He was always good at reading people, and Youngjae––selfish as he was––was being genuine about what he wanted. Jongup definitely didn’t blame him for wanting to leave this place. But he did blame him for a few other things. He had quite the list going, in fact.

 

“So, we just follow the map and hope for the best?” Junhong asked. “Which map? I saw two.” He looked back down at the page Jongup had stopped on, noticing that he wasn’t trailing his fingers over the pages anymore.

“Jongup.” He nudged his shoulder, but Jongup didn’t respond, so Junhong shifted around to face him. He was staring down at the book, still, but obviously not really seeing it. Junhong waved a hand in front of his face, effectively getting his attention. “Which map will lead us through the caves?”

Jongup’s nose scrunched for a moment before he turned back to the book. He flipped a few pages forward, then slide it over to him.

Junhong inspected the map closely, and then decided that he had no idea how maps worked.

 

 

 

"So, Bang Yongguk." Kim Hyunshik pulled out the chair Daehyun had occupied before he was kicked out of the room, and seated himself heavily. He stared at Yongguk for a moment, a look of something like contemplation on his face. His eyes were small but wide, and––had he always had a moustache? Yongguk supposed it was understandable that he hadn’t ever looked at Kim's face long enough to tell.

He kept finding himself surprised whenever the man spoke. His voice was much higher than he thought anyone would assume just from looking at him. He was both tall and sturdy looking, but Yongguk doubted there was much muscle underneath that shiny black suit of his.

"You have an interesting past, I've found." Kim spoke so casually that Yongguk almost didn't even notice what he had said at first. As soon as the words processed he tensed up, making sure to keep his head down, though his eyes had come back to being focused. He did have an interesting past. One that could get him into serious trouble, especially considering his present circumstances.

"All it took was a little digging around, really." Kim dropped his elbow on the table with a heavy thunk and leaned closer. Yongguk kept his gaze locked on the floor.

Kim cleared his throat. "You know, I won't be forgetting that this is your fault anytime soon," he said. "To be honest with you, I considered just throwing you into prison to rot for the rest of your life, but that would be quite boring, don't you think?"

Yongguk took a deep breath and started to count the tiles beneath his feet. Of course it would be boring. You never hear people gushing about how _fun_ and _exciting_ jail was.

"Don't you  _think_?" Kim repeated himself, loudly this time. It was obvious that he was trying to get to Yongguk, but that wouldn't be happening. A fist slammed down on the table right in front of him, but he didn't flinch, and just kept his eyes sealed to the floor. That was 34 tiles, so far.

"Fine," Kim settled back down in his seat, one knee crossed on top of the other. "I had been hoping to build up to this––make it more dramatic and whatnot––but seeing as you are not cooperating, I'm going to be forced to skip a few scenes," Kim declared. There was a loud beat of silence before he continued.

57 tiles.

“I hate to do this Yongguk, I really do," Kim lamented insincerely, "but if you don't cooperate with me I just might be forced to pay you daughter a visit down in the Lower West district."

_He's just trying to get to you. He wants a reaction. He wouldn't actually––_

"I hear that she doesn't go to school," Kim said. "That they refuse to let her." He drummed his fingers against the table slowly. "Maybe that has to do with the fact that she's a ret––"

"Don't you dare say that word," Yongguk said quietly. "Don't you dare."

Kim reclined in his seat with an easy smile on his face. "Well, it's true," he said. "A person who can't speak won't make it anywhere in life. A person without a voice doesn't belong here; they won't offer us any benefit at all." He paused for a moment. "I might like to clear a bit of space, make room for the new, bigger generations."

Yongguk felt a chill settle over his body in a fine mist.

"And not just your Misun, of course––anybody in Equidem who can't work should be disposed of. I'm actually thinking of submitting a proposal for a new law––you are aware of my position in the House, I assume. It would require those who are deemed unsuitable at birth to be executed. I would set the standards for what makes a child suitable or not, of course, and all of the existing ones would be collected and…"

Yongguk clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, trying to tune the man out as much as he could. What kind of sick game did he think he was playing?

"Were you going to tell me what you need my cooperation for?" he asked, effectively cutting off his ex-boss's rant about all the injustices he claimed the disabled wrought upon the world.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked," Kim said, and then he sighed. "I suppose I'll need to cancel my other plans for now while we take care of this.” Suddenly he leaned forward again, elbows on the table, and Yongguk finally raised his eyes to look him in the face.

“But please keep in mind, Mister Bang, if you go against a single word from my mouth, I will take you with me to that little clinic and take your daughter––and her mother––away from you right before your eyes, and you will feel the helplessness of being so near and yet so far, unable to even lift a finger.” He left.

 

 

"Daehyun."

Still jumpy, he flinched when his boss entered the hallway and spoke his name. The man didn't even have to put malice into his tone; it must come completely naturally to him. A born talent, inherited at birth.

"Yes?" He cleared his throat and looked up, trying to make himself seem at least loosely composed.

"What kind of condition was the generator in before it was stolen?”

Daehyun’s brow creased in confusion for a moment before he deciphered what, or, who, rather, exactly it was that his boss referred to. “The––oh.” He hesitated. "That's hard to say." He tried not to look at the eyes of the man standing across from him. "He hadn't been given any actual solid food the entire time––"

"Which was how long?"

"Uh," Daehyun thought back. "About a week?"

Kim nodded. "Go on."

"Well, so, he was also only being kept hydrated by an IV, but once you're off the IV, its effects don't last long unless you get some water right away and keep yourself hydrated on your own," he said. "So… I would assume, because of his dehydration and malnutrition, that his body is pretty much running on fumes. I doubt he was even conscious when they took him."

Kim tapped his chin. "So they would be forced to attend to him medically. It would slow them down."

Daehyun shrugged. "Well, they certainly should, but that doesn't necessarily mean they will. I don't know. It would depend on how far they need to go and what their destination is."

"It would want to go back to the surface," Kim growled, and then he turned around. "Assuming your friend Yoo Youngjae is with it, I know where they're going, and they will make it there."

"Wait!" Daehyun pushed himself off the wall, following Kim as he quickly made his way down the hall. "What if he's not? What if Youngjae didn't go with him?"

"It would end up there eventually." He spat the words out with such distaste that Daehyun winced. What was this man so passionate about?

"We're leaving tonight."

Daehyun stopped. "Wait, what?" He pointed a finger to his chest. "We? As in me? As in _us_? Where?"

Kim paused but didn't look back at him, only turning his head enough so that his voice would reach Daehyun's ears. "You're my personal assistant now, remember? That means your job is to do what I tell you." Suddenly Kim turned around, and in the blink of an eye he was standing too close, fisting the front of Daehyun's shirt and slamming him against the wall. Daehyun stared with wide eyes as he felt the wind get knocked out of him. Was this guy going to kill him? Was he about to die?

A smile slowly spread across Kim's face. "That means you  _listen_  to me," he said, voice low. "And if I hear a word out of your mouth again that isn't "yes, sir," then I will kill your friend Yoo Youngjae the second I see his face, and I will see his face again very soon, I guarantee that."

Daehyun could feel his entire body shaking. He clenched his fists at his sides to still them, and he gulped. "Yes, Sir," he echoed, voice betraying what he had prayed was a calm exterior. Daehyun cursed himself for being so afraid. He should be standing up to this man, giving him a piece of his mind. But that would get him into big trouble, and he couldn't help Youngjae from behind bars.

Kim pulled Daehyun forward and then shoved him back again, not sparing a second glance as he coughed heavily upon impact with the wall.

“A few of my other assistants, as well as Bang Yongguk, will be accompanying us,” Kim announced. "I am going to get my money-maker back," he whispered, leaning closer to Daehyun's ear. "I told you I have a hunch where they’re going, and we’ll be meeting them halfway. That means you are going to help me."

When he pulled back, Daehyun opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realized were squeezed shut, and nodded. “Okay.” If he wasn’t so terrified he surely would have winced at the squeakiness of his voice.

Kim let go of him and continued down the hall, leaving Daehyun to gasp for breath and slump backward.

“Didn’t you say something about getting even with someone? Don’t tell me you really thought I wouldn’t be listening in on your conversation with Bang Yongguk. You don’t need to worry about losing your job, as long as you don’t keep things from me.” A pointed look. “In fact, I’ll let you have the first go at that––oh, what did you call him, tall bitch? And if you do your job well enough, I might just forget you ever considered hiding things from me for even a moment.” Kim kept talking, but Daehyun didn’t want to listen anymore.

How the hell was he supposed to get out of this?

 

 

 

"How the  _hell_  are we supposed to even get in there?" Himchan demanded. There was a building drawn on the map, right in front of the marked entrance to the cave.

"The base is abandoned," Youngjae told him flatly. "It's empty. There's nobody there."

Himchan scoffed. "Well then what is it there for?"

Youngjae shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s probably explained in the book.” He gestured toward Jongup, who nodded his head and pointed to a paragraph on the page.

“Can you rewrite it in simplified?” Youngjae asked, leaning over.

Jongup backed away quickly and shook his head, casting his eyes downward. Junhong narrowed his eyes at Youngjae and shifted a bit to get between them and partially block his view of Jongup.

Youngjae shook his head, trying to recall the few words he had exchanged with Jongup just a week prior. He couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like.

“How are you guys communicating?” he asked, watching closely as Junhong hesitated.

“We… don’t really, exactly,” he said.

“This is a bit of a rushed situation,” Himchan snapped at Youngjae. “We haven’t quite found the time to catch up with each other yet.”

Jongup flipped the page.

“We did ask him to write for us, but he only knows traditional characters,” Junhong explained. “I did study them in school, so I understood bits and pieces. But they never taught us enough for a full sentence, or anything.” He paused. “I also recognized the characters of his name, but we never focused much on names in class, and I don’t think the characters are directly related to any basic roots, so I’m… not sure how I knew…” he trailed off, staring at the wall.

Youngjae caught more dense, word and diagram-filled pages as Jongup flipped through the book from cover to cover. Whatever was written in there, it didn’t seem to surprise him at all. Youngjae wondered if the schools on the surface hadn’t banned less recent history from classes. How much did Jongup know?

How much did they _not_ know?

 

Youngjae could recall the first time he met Jongup’s eyes clearly. They had been wide and terrified, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. It had been the sparkling green flecks in them, somehow both bright and deep and the same time. A light color with an immeasurable depth.

He wondered if everyone on the surface had eyes like that, that reflected the land around them with such natural ease.

But looking at Jongup now, there were no rays of sun to refract through his irises; only the stale, dim light from a lonely bulb that dangled from the ceiling reflected hollowly against his eyes, making them look cold and dark, the brilliant emerald green Youngjae had seen before impossible to pick out of the dark, murky brown that had replaced it.

He took a deep breath stepped away from the three seated on the tiny bed.

“So,” he began, effectively startling the others. “The map will be easy enough to follow. I can lead you through the base and the caves no problem with it.”

Himchan still looked unsure, Jongup timid and prodding annoyingly at Youngjae’s heart, but Junhong, at least, seemed determined as he nodded.

“We’ll play it by ear from there,” Youngjae said. “Or we can just go our separate ways once we reach the surface.”

“When are we leaving?” Junhong asked quietly. “And what about the doctor? Can we just… walk out? Do we have to sign stuff or anything before going?”

Youngjae rolled his eyes at the boy’s worries. “No, we just leave, Junhong. As for when, though… what do you guys think?” He turned to Himchan, who rolled his jaw and broke eye contact as soon as it was established.

“We should wait until just an hour or so before the light starts to come back on,” he decided. “That way we can take some time to rest and still have the dark to cover us on the way there.”

Youngjae nodded. He returned to the single chair in the room, which was exceptionally uncomfortable, and sank down in it, leaning his head against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him with a heavy sigh.

Jongup closed the book and handed it to Junhong, who slipped it into his backpack to sling over the railing at the head of the bed. Himchan reclined back against the railing at the foot of the bed, unfolding his legs so that they rested parallel to Jongup’s. He had already laid back on the single pillow, scooting over as much as he could to make room for Junhong to stretch out, as well, and ending up pinned securely between Himchan’s legs and Junhong’s back.

Youngjae didn’t think he would be getting any sleep, but somebody had to watch the clock, he supposed. He didn’t know how none of the other three seemed concerned about waking up on time.

It wouldn’t be difficult to get through the caves and to the surface itself, but he wouldn’t deny that he was worried about actually getting to the base and through it. He had been telling the truth when he’d said that the building was dormant. It was completely abandoned; it had served its purpose when the people had first begun to excavate the area, over two centuries ago. The building was made of _wood,_ something that most citizens of Equidem would never get to see.

The trouble Youngjae suspected they would have was with the junk yard of a disguise the base was shrouded in. There was no way to get around it and still enter the caves, since the actual entrance to them was in the basement of the building.

Youngjae knew where the entrance was, but navigating through the junk yard had been hard even with another person by his side last time. And now he had committed to being responsible for leading three other people through it. He wondered how much Jongup would slow them down. He wouldn’t need to be carried, would he? Surely at least not _all_ the way. He was certainly looking a bit better than he had been the last time Youngjae had seen him. Then again, the last time Youngjae had seen Jongup, he had been spending most of his time being unconscious.

 

 

November 21st 5692

            True to his prediction, over the next few hours, Youngjae’s eyes closed for nothing more than to blink every now and then. He wrapped his arms around himself as the temperature dropped, and he was certain having three other bodies in the tiny in-patient room helped with insulation, but he still shivered for the first hour or so.

            Junhong, Himchan, and Jongup were all still squished together in the small bed, looking much warmer than Youngjae. Half of him hoped they wouldn’t wake up while they were all unconsciously snuggling closer to each other, and half of him hoped that he might be provided with some brief comic relief in them waking up in awkwardly intimate positions.

            Youngjae was very tired.

Being on his own after spending so many years on the move with Daehyun would take some adjusting, too. The quiet was already bothering him, and he wasn’t even by himself yet. Usually when one of them wouldn’t be able to sleep, they’d stay up together talking until they couldn’t anymore. More often than not they would end up sharing one bed, and Youngjae always faked annoyance at Daehyun’s snoring, but he never pushed him away when he rolled onto his side or kicked him in the leg.

 

            As the minutes passed, Youngjae watched the three on the bed. Junhong was sleeping like a stone, solid and unmoving. Himchan remained mostly still. He woke up a few times, but never for too long. Jongup moved a lot, but pinned between the other two he stayed in place. Youngjae watched as his arms slowly traveled around Himchan’s legs, one hand curling around his ankle and tugging it against his chest. Youngjae was surprised to see that Himchan was awake as this was happening, watching Jongup silently and making no move to stop him.

            Youngjae frowned and averted his eyes to study the dimly lit floor, instead, and an hour later, he woke up the others.

 

 

Junhong grabbed one of Jongup's hands and pulled him closer. "I'm sorry this happened to you," he murmured, "we'll get you back home."

But Jongup was already shaking his head. With his free hand he delivered a poke to Junhong's cheek, which turned out to be far more malleable than he had thought. Skin wasn't supposed to be this soft. Maybe on babies, but Junhong was quite grown. Fascinated by this, he stared, tuning out everything Junhong was saying for choice of stroking his face with the tip of his finger.

Junhong seemed to notice that Jongup wasn't listening, and that his hand had been touching his face for what now officially counted as an awkwardly long amount of time?

As Junhong blinked at him, nonplussed, Jongup decided that in his few days without a voice, he'd never wished for it back so badly to explain himself.  _Sorry, it's just so soft,_ he wanted to say. But instead he just mouthed the word sorry, and Junhong didn't really seem to care all that much about the touching. He seemed… almost used to tolerating it. Jongup glanced at Himchan, who was crouched on the floor, going through all of their stuff.

He didn't seem like the touchy type. Then again Jongup didn't even know Himchan's last name. He certainly hadn't minded squeezing into the bed with himself and Junhong last night, but there wasn't really any other option, either. Jongup squinted at him. How was it possible for a person to be so beautiful. If Jongup could put it in words he would say that Himchan was the human embodiment of a waterfall. But his face alone was that of a cougar. A waterfall cougar? That was probably a first in the history of metaphors. It was so easy to compare Himchan to nature, and Jongup was acutely reminded that Himchan didn't  _know_  nature. He'd probably never even seen a tree. Jongup was now set on introducing him. Once they got out of this awful, dark place, he would teach them all everything he knew; he would show them every single element of the world that they had never seen, teach them about all of the history they had missed, and tell them––tell them nothing, because he couldn't talk. Right.

When Himchan looked up, Jongup tilted his head to the side, not seeing that he had been noticed as he tried to look at his face from a different angle.

His hand had long since fallen from Junhong's face, and seemed willing to move to a different person's. But that would have to wait, because his name was being called again. He let his focus fall back onto Junhong, who was glancing between him and Himchan with a weird look on his face, as if not sure what Jongup had been so infatuated with.

“Do you feel strong enough to walk?” Junhong was asking him questions. Oh.

Jongup thought about it. He felt _better_. Tired, but better. He certainly figured he could walk, but the last time he had tried doing that he hadn’t lasted very long.

The doctor had appeared briefly, just long enough to remove the IV in Jongup’s arm and tape a bandage over the tiny wound. Junhong had told her that they would be leaving soon, and she had wished them good luck.

Jongup nodded his head. Yeah, he could walk.

When he stood up, he found himself miraculously lacking in dizziness, and couldn’t help the smile from his face. His body felt stronger. Not his best, but stronger. Slowly he stretched his legs, then his arms, then essentially his whole body. Several joints cracked, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Youngjae cringe at the sound. Good.

Junhong had an arm halfway extended toward him, but Jongup didn’t even stumble. He could make it, he was sure. He would be going back home today. He would go home; they would make it. They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOMPWOMPIDIDN'TEDITTHIS
> 
> so! I hope all the scenes here are in order 'cause, well, I can't say I 100% know that they are or are not… anyway, here we are, the last chapter is up next (let's see how long that'll take me, place your bets now,) and then after that I'll have a postface/preview of part 2 for you!
> 
> <3
> 
> if ur having a good time pls leave a comment ya boi is in need


	10. Lava

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Himchan didn't trust Youngjae at all.
> 
> He found himself looking over his shoulder constantly to make sure Jongup and Junhong were still behind him, paranoid that some shadowy figure would jump out and steal them away, while also feeling responsible to keep an eye on Youngjae in case he tried to pull something on them directly. His neck was surely going to ache after all this.

**Chapter Nine**

la·va

/ˈlävə/

_noun_

a mixture of molten rock, volatiles, and solids that is found above the surface of the earth.

* * *

 

November 21st, 5692

Jongup was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to walk compared to the last time he'd been on his feet for more than a minute or so. The heavy boots were annoying and weighed him down, though. His thin leather ones would have been a much better choice for travel.

Jongup wondered what had become of his clothes. Did the man who ordered him captured still have them? Maybe they were thrown away, or burned. And those were his best hunting clothes, the fit was perfect, the fabric soft but not heavy. They had been very expensive. He briefly wondered if suing was an option, and then realized that the government in Equidem was probably completely different than what he was used to. Nobody on the surface really knew what was going on down there, at least not that Jongup knew of.

Based on what he'd seen of the place so far––Himchan and Junhong's house, the buildings and roads, the scratchy clothing––, and heard about their employer, he had to assume it wasn't an ideal economy for the common citizen. Probably some form of failed popular capitalism. He couldn’t see this place lasting another fifty years.

Either way, the boots were heavy. There was metal on the bottoms and a thick zipper on the sides, which Jongup found completely unnecessary. The jacket and pants were heavy, too. And it wasn't even cold; the place was far too warm and dry during the day, but he noticed the past couple of nights (his time spent outside of that capsule in the power plant) that the temperature dropped drastically. The place seemed to work kind of like a desert; but the fluctuation in temperature was probably determined by when they burned the most fossil fuels. Surely using so much during the day would generate plenty of heat, and then vice versa.

 

It was easy to sneak out of town. Jongup would have liked to say goodbye to the doctor and thank her for everything again, but it was early and she wasn’t in yet.

There was nobody out; the streets were completely silent. According to Youngjae, after they reached the border wall and got past it––which shouldn’t be difficult, according to him––, they would be walking through pretty much nothingness for an hour or so. He could spot what he figured was the wall from where they were now. It looked only about half a mile away, but Jongup couldn't be sure. It was so hard to  _see_  underground.

Jongup used to be very good at hiding pain.

Even though his lack of voice kept him quiet, he still wasn't doing a great job this time. He tried to take long, slow breaths to steady his panting, but that just made him dizzy and they stopped for a water break.

He was slowing the others down, he knew that. He had to keep reminding himself that they––well, Junhong, at least; and Himchan, he seemed concerned, too––were doing it for him.

He was regaining energy slowly but surely, though it certainly wasn't at its normal strength. And the magic still wasn't back, either. He tried not to think about the possibility of it being gone for good. Jongup wondered how Kim had even managed to extract his magic energy when there was nothing down there to feed it. Had he hidden a bunch of potted plants in the room or something?

Jongup shook his head to himself. This was ridiculous. Another piece of broken glass crunched beneath his shoes, and suddenly Jongup was thankful for how thick and heavy they were. It was still near impossible to see when the light's setting was so low in the earliest hours of the morning, and he guessed his vision would be worse than everybody else's down here, anyway, when it came to seeing in the dark. The junk yard that Youngjae was leading them to as if he was a mother duck with her young trailing behind her looked massive.

Ducks. Jongup missed those.

He used to visit a pond nearby the fort in the Verde Silva forest, where the mages would go to hunt a few times a year. Where he had been captured. Altiorans didn't eat duck much. It was considered more of a back-up, a common bird that the poor relied on, in the case of a bad hunting season. So Jongup would sit with the ducks, instead, and when they would quack at him he would quack back.

He would give anything to be able to quack again. The doctor told him chances of that were high––well, not for quacking, specifically, just his whole voice in general––, because whoever had done the procedure on him––that nervous nurse who had been with Youngjae––seemed to have kept the damage to a minimum as best they could. Hopefully he would be able to speak again, but there was still a chance, albeit a small one, according to the doctor, that it wouldn't happen. Even despite that, Jongup was hopeful he'd get his voice back. After all, he had been able to get some words out the other day, back on the train. Well, they had been more like wheezed-out whispers, but it was something, so Jongup clung to it. His vocal chords would heal faster if he didn’t strain them.

 

The border wall turned out to be extremely underwhelming––just a long, old fence that was only tall enough to reach Jongup’s shoulders. They climbed it. Junhong, being the tallest of the four, was elected to go last so that he could give the others a boost. Himchan went first so that he could spot Jongup, whose turn was next, and as soon as his feet hit the ground on the other side Youngjae hopped over. Junhong climbed the fence with ease, all long arms and endless legs.

The walk to the junkyard taught Jongup one thing: the West District was a wasteland compared to the North. There was nothing but empty space and sandy dirt, and everything stood so still. That was a good thing, though. The lack of people out here gave Jongup more hope that they would make it.

 

 

There were junkyards in every district of the city. They lined the outskirts just past the border walls, though nobody who didn't work in waste disposal would ever have any reason to visit one, so Junhong had never seen one up close before. As they walked, he found himself gaping up at the gigantic piles of scrap metal and broken appliances.

They all stayed close together, a small pack of four, carefully shuffling through the junkyard and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was as hard as it sounded, what with there being––well,  _junk_ everywhere. Jongup had already tripped multiple times, usually catching himself with the arms and shoulders of Junhong and Himchan, who walked on either side of him, gripping their arms and then popping right back up, recovering quickly. It wasn’t a priority to stay quiet as much as they had thought it would need to be––Junhong was surprised at the lack of patrol compared to the Northern District. It was almost like people just didn’t go to this part of the city.

He and Himchan were both in charge of carrying their supplies, which mostly just consisted of water, stale food, and a few bottles of that drink the doctor had given Jongup that would give him nutrition without further damaging his throat. They actually all had one in place of breakfast before leaving the clinic, since there hadn’t really been an alternative as they rushed to get out the door. Junhong thought it was absolutely _absurd_ that Himchan had enjoyed his. The rest of them had pretty much gagged through it. But Jongup was grateful for them; he seemed to have actual energy for the first time since they’d met, and Junhong could tell he was excited for the fact alone that he could walk around without constant assistance again.

Jongup was to be left in charge of the book once they made it into the caves, serving as Youngjae's back-up guide. The tunnels drawn on the map looked more complicated to him than Youngjae had described them to be, and he wouldn’t deny that it made him nervous. Not to say that he doubted Youngjae's confidence, but he doubted Youngjae's confidence. He wouldn't even be half surprised if Youngjae led them right into a trap, if he would open the door to the base and Kim's smiling face would beckon them inside.

But that book. It was obviously stolen; there was no way the city provided its people with real, paper books like that. Youngjae had taken it. Junhong didn't know from whom or where, but it did tell him that Youngjae probably hadn't been lying when he'd said that his only interest was in himself. His assisted kidnapping of Jongup that he claimed he had done to "keep his job" also stood as strong evidence.

Junhong wasn’t sure if Youngjae’s sole self-interest was a good thing or not. As they navigated carefully through the yard, he managed to determine that he was leaning toward not.

 

"This is it," Youngjae said, breaking the bubble of silence that had formed around them all. He was pointing at a large, broken down bus. A big transport one, the kind that Junhong used to ride to and from work every day. Those could fit about fifty people inside. It was half-sunk into the ground, bits and pieces fallen unhinged and broken apart, the front dipping lower than the back, which was crunched against the wall of rock that marked the edge of the city.

Junhong didn't recognize the outside of the bus at first; the logo that donned all of the ones he'd ever seen was missing, leaving the metal empty and blank, rusted over. There were other bits of scrap pushed up against it, giving a sad, droopy look to the vehicle. There were no tires, either, just empty axels keeping the whole thing stuck unbalanced. The jagged wall of rock seemed to go up forever, stretching so far Junhong couldn't see the top, just fading into empty darkness.

There had been the occasional lamp after they hopped the border. Not nearly as many as there had been in the town, but enough that they weren't falling all over each other. By the time they had reached the junkyard, Junhong had noticed it was beginning to slowly get brighter. The light was coming back on, and that meant that time was ticking even faster now.

 

After a minute of Youngjae refusing help as he tugged at the jammed folding doors of the bus, Himchan decided to take matters into his own hands. He stepped in and nudged Youngjae off to the side and earning himself a glare before gripping the edge of one half of the door and wrenching it open with a horrible metal screech. Junhong cringed quite physically at the noise, looking uncomfortable. Himchan stepped aside and gestured for Youngjae to go in first. His lips were pursed, and his mouth pinched shut as he slid past Himchan and jumped up the two large steps leading into the vehicle. Himchan rolled his eyes and swung around, hand still wrapped around the edge of the door, following him inside and waving for the other two.

Every panel of metal he stepped on creaked under his weight, and the boots they all wore made hollow clangs thud behind them.

"This is it, huh?" Himchan mused, spinning around to take in the sights. "Nice place." He frowned when a small rat scuttled over the toe of his boot before vanishing between a collapsed set of seats. "Evidently, it's infested," he pointed out.

"This isn't the base, you idiot," Youngjae grumbled at him. "It’s just the entrance. Over here," he said, taking the handle of the emergency back exit and hefting it upward with a grunt. The door swung out with a heavy creak.

"Fuck," Youngjae cursed. "It's dark as shit down there." He sighed. "I'm gonna have to find the light switch… it should be just inside," he said, mostly to himself. Nobody stopped him as he took a step into the near-pitch black. There were a few thumps and a muttered "ow" before the passage suddenly lit up.

"Found it," Youngjae rejoiced monotonously. He looked back at the other three, who were staring at him. "What? Come on. There's gotta be a flashlight in here somewhere we can take with us into the tunnels. Let’s look around."

 

 

Himchan had fully expected the structure to be built from metal, but instead the walls were made up of uneven, vertical panels. He ran his hand over one, only to jerk it back immediately. He hadn’t expected the surface was rough and scratchy, and something sharp dug into his palm. Had he injured himself by touching a wall? He held his hand against his chest for a moment before pulling it back again to take a look.

At first he was confused, because he didn’t see anything that could be causing pain. He looked at the wall, which was just as bare of dangers, then squinted back at his hand before bringing it closer to his face, and then he saw it. Buried in the callous below his thumb was a tiny piece of… something? The tip just protruded, barely poking out of his skin, but it didn’t hurt too bad. He stared until Jongup, who had been behind him, bumped into his back, having not noticed when he stopped.

 “Sorry,” Himchan mumbled, looking over his shoulder and offering Jongup a smile. He dropped his arm back to his side; he’d take care of his hand later––except Jongup had grabbed his wrist and was pulling him back around.

“What?” Himchan asked. “What is it?” Then he noticed that Jongup was inspecting the inflamed area of his hand. He squinted and then looked up at Himchan.

 “… what?”

Jongup just gave him a small smile, his head tilted a little to the side, before looking back down. With his other hand, he splayed three fingers around the area surrounding the small sliver, and pushed into the skin. Himchan immediately flinched, jerking back with a light gasp, because, wow, that hurt more now.

Jongup tightened his grip around Himchan’s wrist and pulled him closer, squinting as he dug the tips of his fingers deeply into the rough, calloused skin.

Himchan grimaced at the uncomfortable pressure, but he let Jongup do his thing, and leaned in to get a closer look. He could see that when Jongup pressed his fingers down, more of the little thing stuck out. Jongup suddenly pushed down harder, and before Himchan could even wince, he had plucked the small object out of his palm.

“Shit––what the hell?” Himchan gasped at the twinge pain the motion brought. Jongup flicked the thing away and let go of him, before taking his shoulder and spinning him back around. He brought his hand back to his own face, investigating the slightly-reddened skin. Sure enough, there wasn’t a trace of the small, dark sliver. He stared at his hand until Jongup gave his back a push.

“Thanks,” Himchan said quietly, grinning when Jongup’s response was to deliver a shower of pokes to the back of his shoulder.

Now knowing to _not_ touch the wall, Himchan kept moving, jogging a little to catch up to Junhong and Youngjae, who were stalled at a cabinet while the latter of the two sifted through it. “What are you doing?” he asked.

There was a grunt from inside the cupboard, where Youngjae had stuck his head and was rustling around. “I’m––” a loud thunk “––ow––trying to––” Youngjae gasped for fresh air when he emerged, and ran a hand through his hair, which was dusted in… well, dust. “I’m trying to find a flashlight,” he said after coughing a couple times. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. It was then Himchan noticed that they seemed to be in some sort of kitchen. Several pots and pans dangled from a structure attached to the ceiling, which Junhong had to bob and weave through in order to avoid taking a hit to the head.

And then Jongup––who Himchan hadn’t realized had fallen behind again to poke around––strolled up to the counter and leaned back on it, casually tossing a small flashlight back and forth in his hands. He looked–– _smug?_ Jongup had a lazy grin on his face, and his eyes shone with a sort of confidence that Himchan hadn’t seen the potential in him to possess. He still looked a bit sickly, but the fashion in which he cocked his brow had Himchan second guessing himself. Was this what Jongup was usually like?

“Jongup found a flashlight,” he blurted awkwardly. Jongup pouted at him, and Himchan honest to god couldn’t tell whether he was trying to exaggerate the look and make him feel bad or if it was all natural.

 

Jongup ended up tossing the flashlight to (throwing it at) Youngjae, who caught it and proceeded to lead them up a creaky flight of stairs. The place had a strange smell to it, almost moldy. They entered an empty room, and Youngjae led them to a padlocked door, which he was able to unlock with just a few tries. Outside that door, the ground turned back to rock. The air was damp and cool, the smell of mold dissipating, and there was a slight draft, but it was dark. There were dim lights embedded in the rock every hundred feet or so, but the group mostly relied on the flashlight and tripped a lot, both over the uneven ground and each other.

Jongup was tingling with excitement, all thoughts of how Youngjae could still double-cross them forgotten for the moment. He knew it had only been one week, but it felt like months had passed since the last time he felt the sun on his face, and he was getting antsy.

 

 

 

"Holy fu––"

Himchan's curse was censored by Junhong shouting as a swarm of bats flew past them, swatting at the air around him with his eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh my god," Youngjae said. "They're just bats. Calm down."

Junhong stilled, and slowly lowered his arms. "I didn't know rats could fly," he said, a tremor in his voice. He turned to Himchan. "Since when can rats fly? It's not like they've always been able to and I'm just somehow the only person ever who didn't know, right?"

" _Bats_ , not rats," Youngjae interrupted. "They're different."

Junhong trotted back to pace with the others. "How?" he asked. “What’s a bat? They _looked_ like rats. Just. In the air.”

Youngjae sighed. "Rats can't fly and they eat crumbs. Bats  _can_  fly and they drink blood. Well, and they eat fruit, too."

There was a beat of silence.

"They  _what?"_ Junhong hissed at him, glancing around again like he way making sure there were no lurking creatures.

Youngjae snorted. "Not all of them. Definitely not the ones around here. And even the ones that do don't drink  _human_  blood," he clarified.

"How do you know so much?" Himchan asked, narrowing his eyes at Youngjae.

"I told you, I've been to the surface before. I had to do some reading, first. Plus, we ran into bats on our way up, too."

Himchan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound much like your boss to make you educate yourself before a mission," he said.

"I never said he told me to," Youngjae muttered. "I just took advantage of the access I had to his office."

 

Himchan didn't trust Youngjae at all.

He found himself looking over his shoulder constantly to make sure Jongup and Junhong were still behind him, paranoid that some shadowy figure would jump out and steal them away, while also feeling responsible to keep an eye on Youngjae in case he tried to pull something on them directly. His neck was surely going to ache after all this.

After all this what? Himchan still had doubts about the surface. Of course he'd heard rumors floating around as he grew up that they weren't the only people here––that there were others, who lived in some mysterious land far away or whatever––, but none of it sounded right to him. He didn't believe any of it for a second; why would he when he was perfectly content with his life as it was?

And then when he woke up one night to the sound of the front door opening and Junhong and Yongguk came into their bedroom carrying an unconscious man, he started to second guess himself. Jongup just  _looked_ different enough that he couldn't possibly _not_ be from some mythical land or something. People couldn't change their hair color. Nobody had… dots on their face. And no one had weird-looking designs drawn on their neck or hands, either––definitely not. And on top of all that, the education system made certain that every child learned how to read and write in the simplified language at a very young age, but somehow Jongup hadn't even seemed to know that there  _was_  a simplified language.

Not to mention that Youngjae claimed to have been to what he kept calling “the surface” before. It just… it was overwhelming. Himchan decided that he should stop worrying so much. Jongup, at least, seemed genuine enough. Though in Himchan's opinion he trusted strangers far too easily. Actually, then again, if Himchan had been held captive and tortured for a week, wouldn't he be rather willing to go with anybody who wasn't actively hurting him? He supposed he didn’t know.

 

 

Most of the walk––after the bat incident, at least––was boring and filled with steep, shifty inclines and the occasional drop of water from the ceiling, so that was nice.

Junhong wasn’t sure if it had been a gradual change that he hadn’t noticed or if it had just suddenly appeared, but that didn’t matter; there was light in front of them. Seeping into the tunnel from an incline Junhong couldn’t see the top of. It was dim, but enough that slight shadows formed around them and that he could look down and see his own shoes for the first time in a while.

Ahead, Youngjae clicked off his flashlight. “This is it,” he said. “The exit is just up here around that corner.”

Jongup, who was in front of Junhong and behind Himchan, stood on his toes to look over Himchan’s shoulder. Junhong could tell that, even despite his obvious excitement and how antsy he was acting, he was exhausted. Jongup had basically refused help the entire journey, which, Junhong could say from checking his watch, had so far taken them at least two hours. And if Junhong felt worn out (he did,) there was no way Jongup could possibly be feeling exactly filled with endurance, all things considered.

Suddenly Junhong was jerked backwards by the force of a hand on his forearm. He didn’t have time to react before something cold and metal hit his wrist and he was spun around, then both of his hands were pulled out in front of him and cuffed together before his mind even caught up and he realized what was happening.

He yelled out belatedly, surely drawing the attention of Jongup, Himchan, and Youngjae. Junhong squinted, looking down at the man before him, and he swore he nearly fell right into him when the recognition hit.

“Y-Yongguk,” he stammered out, not even glancing back to see if the others had noticed. “What are you––what are you doing here? Why are you––I-I thought you were gonna…”

Yongguk didn’t spare him a glance, just keeping his gaze locked forward as he dragged Junhong along with him just a short ways away. When Junhong saw the other people Yongguk was leading him toward, his stomach dipped and then vaulted before dipping again and staying there. “What’s going on?” he asked meekly, pretty sure he knew what might be going on. Yongguk was pulling him toward Daehyun––Junhong had to suppress a surge of anger when he saw him––and his old boss, who stood beside each other, flanked by a few other scary-looking men and women whose faces were covered by masks. His stomach continued to twist and turn. This was bad; this was the worst possible kind of bad they could encounter. He resisted the movement, but Yongguk was stronger than he looked and merely tightened his grip on Junhong’s arm, then pushed him in front so that he could shove him forward, instead.

 

 

“Oh, no,” Himchan said quietly. Youngjae nodded in agreement. The three of them had turned around to Junhong’s shout in tandem just as they had all exited a narrow pathway and entered a more open, rounded area. They were practically right next to the exit at this point; Youngjae could feel the draft growing stronger. Jongup had turned to Youngjae, looking accusatory immediately, and Youngjae didn’t blame him in the slightest for assuming it had been his fault.

But no matter who was at fault, this was definitely an oh-no situation. He had stopped moving, and they all stood still in a sort of crooked line, facing Kim Hyunshik, Daehyun, Yongguk, and Junhong. Youngjae couldn’t help looking at Daehyun. He was obviously scared and anxious, with his hands clasped together in front of him and his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing. Of course Kim would drag him along. And Yongguk… had he been caught? There was no way he would have turned himself in; they must have captured him. But why was he here with them, clearly choosing to go against them? Yongguk was holding onto Junhong’s arms tightly, and there was a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. The sight brought on a sinking feeling of dread. He could stew about Yongguk later.

Youngjae took a moment to compose himself, holstering his flashlight in his pocket and folding his arms over his chest, doing his best to look as unconcerned as someone who was probably about to receive a death sentence could look.

“How did you get here without us noticing?” he asked. “There’s only one entrance.” Time, he needed time to think of a plan. _Don’t look at Daehyun._

“Ah, well, you see, that’s not true,” Kim said, a grin playing on his face, “we took the stairs.”

“The––stairs? Of course, the stairs, never mind, doesn’t matter.” Youngjae wasn’t especially surprised that there was an easier, hidden route. _Stop looking at Daehyun._

“Now boys, listen. I just want to be civil about all this. My terms are simple.” Kim pointed to Jongup, who was still behind Himchan, looking small, but, surprisingly, not at all timid. In fact, it was more like Himchan was holding him back than trying to defend him, keeping him from lunging after Junhong, despite how much he himself must have wanted to. Himchan’s eyes shined in the soft light with an intense fire Youngjae had never seen them hold before. It reminded him of the sun. What he’d seen of it, anyway.

“He comes with me, and I’ll give you your Choi Junhong back.” Kim said, drawing Youngjae’s attention back to him. “You will all return to your regular lives back in the Upper Northern district, with no penalties. All charges will be dropped, and we will all forget any of this ever happened. We’ll go right back to the way it was. I will have contracts written up for you all to sign, to make sure you stay quiet about all this, of course.”

Nobody moved at first. Daehyun’s face was flashing with an obvious nervousness and Yongguk’s expression remained neutral but Junhong was struggling against his hold.

Youngjae could hear Himchan speaking quietly to Jongup, something about not doing anything before he suddenly raised his voice, addressing Kim.

“What happens if we say no?” he asked.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. What did Himchan _think_ would happen if they said no? They would all be punished, that’s what. How exactly, Youngjae didn’t know. He glanced at Jongup again. Was he supposed to just choose Junhong’s freedom over Jongup’s? He didn’t care at all about either of them, other than their potential consequences. Even if he chose Jongup’s, there was no way they would get out now, anyway. No doubt Kim would just kill them anyway.

It was obvious to Youngjae that there was only one way to preserve his chance of getting to the surface. He would have to lie. He would cheat and turn the situation in the direction of his favor.

He reached behind Himchan and grabbed Jongup’s arm, tugging him to his side with one hand and drawing a small knife from where it was strapped to the inside of his boot. Himchan reached out to stop him, only to freeze the second he saw the glint of metal in his hand. Youngjae met his eyes and looked away immediately, drawing Jongup’s back against his chest and pressing the knife to his throat, just below the bandage that covered his sutures. He could feel the way Jongup’s breathing stopped, and Youngjae did the best he could to give his back a sort of gentle pat as he moved the arm wrapped around his middle up to grab Jongup’s hair and pull his head back a bit harshly. His other arm was steady, the knife not even wavering in his grip.

“No hard feelings,” he said, quietly enough that only Jongup could hear him and barely moving his lips, holding back a wince when Jongup’s head hit his shoulder. “You’re my best card.” He met his eyes sideways for a moment, noted the panic in them, and turned his gaze back to Kim, standing across from them. He rose an eyebrow, the only movement among the group before Youngjae swallowed, and finally spoke.

“You need him,” he said, annoyed with himself for still needing to resist the urge to glance at Daehyun, who was still standing to Kim’s left, shifting on his feet as he watched.

Kim didn’t respond, and Youngjae licked his lips, hoping his nerves weren’t showing through too much. “If you let me go, I’ll give him back. And you can do whatever you want with Junhong, too. I just want out of here. That’s it.”

Youngjae ignored the quiet, hissed protests from Himchan. Junhong stepped toward him as if to stop him, but Youngjae shot him a glare and pressed the blade harder against Jongup’s neck. Not hard enough to break skin, but it was enough to subdue him, and he stopped, mouth a hard line, eyes dark and narrowed. It wasn’t like Junhong would have made it very far with Yongguk holding him, anyway, though. The threat was just for show.

“You want to leave? Interesting.” Kim hummed, then nodded at Daehyun. “What about your friend? Or are you two having a lovers’ quarrel about loyalty?”

Youngjae swallowed thickly. “Look, I’ll give you your generator back if you’ll let me go,” he repeated himself. “That’s it.” This was so stupid. It would be easy for Kim to simply agree and then go back on his word and take Youngjae anyway. In fact, why _wouldn’t_ he do that? What could possible stop him from doing that?

Kim hummed thoughtfully again. “Are there not more like this one?” he asked. “I think he’s disposable.”

Youngjae’s face faltered for a moment, but he quickly glued it back together. “Would you be able to re-create the detector _I_ built that _found_ him? Because it’s gone now. I destroyed it.” A lie. The device was in Youngjae’s desk back in his office at HS Electric, but Kim bought it. Everyone seemed to. The older man scowled, and Youngjae rejoiced.

Jongup shifted slightly against him, and Youngjae’s arm strained from where it was wrapped around Jongup’s waist, caging his arms to his sides. It felt like he was holding up nearly all of his weight.

“Alright, I suppose that would be a bother,” Kim said with a sigh. “It was quiet an impressive device. Daehyun,” he gestured for the man beside him to step closer, but kept his eyes on Youngjae. “Let’s tip the scales a little bit then, hmm?”

Youngjae shifted on his feet, Jongup forced to follow his movement, still tense and shaking in his grip. Everyone was watching him and his ex-boss like they were hitting a ball back and forth at each other.

When Daehyun stepped forward, Kim to grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back, mirroring Youngjae’s position with Jongup. Except, the weapon in his hand wasn’t a knife, but a gun. He must have been carrying the entire time. How could Youngjae have not noticed that? Fuck. A gun most definitely did tip the scales, he would give Kim that. Guns were a luxury item, no longer actively manufactured, but also not illegal. Only the wealthy could afford them, and in limited quantities because of the price, no matter how rich they were.

The trade of Jongup for Youngjae’s escape to the surface was only supposed to stall for time while he thought of something that would actually work, but he’d only made everything worse. Now Daehyun’s life was on the line, and Youngjae didn’t know what to do. He scanned everyone’s faces. Junhong continued to look flighty, but he was standing still now, looking far more tense than before as his eyes darted back and forth between Youngjae and Kim. Daehyun was shaking, his fists gripping Kim’s forearm where it pressed into his throat. The gun was pressed solidly to his temple, Kim’s hand steady, relaxed.

There was enough light filtering down the main channel of the cave that Youngjae could see his shadow. They were so close. There was the option of turning and sprinting for the exit, but he’d just get shot at and followed. There was only one option Youngjae could think of that would get them all out, but it was impossible––

Suddenly there was a curse, and Youngjae’s eyes traced the direction of the sound just quickly enough to see Junhong––his hands still cuffed together in front of him––tackle Kim to the ground.

Oh. Well, that might work, too.

Daehyun, still in the man’s grip, had the misfortune of falling with them. They were lucky Kim hadn’t loaded a shot ahead of time. He let go of Daehyun to instead grab Junhong by the shoulders and shove him back, simultaneously sitting over him and readjusting his hold on the gun quickly before aiming squarely at Junhong’s face and firing. There was a frozen moment of fear that washed over everybody, but from this angle Youngjae couldn’t see over Jongup’s shoulder. He dropped his knife and shoved him at Himchan, who was still standing behind him.

Junhong had his hands around the barrel of Kim’s gun, arms shaking as he strained to hold it away from his face and to the side, just above his shoulder instead. There was a small stream of smoke rising from the rock that had been struck by the bullet, right beside his head. Kim grunted and wrenched the weapon free from Junhong’s fingers, then brought it down swiftly on his temple. Junhong jerked, not losing consciousness but also blinking and shaking his head like he couldn’t see straight, and he didn’t seem to be capable of lifting his arms back up to defend himself.

Daehyun had rolled out of the way as soon as Kim had dropped him. Yongguk was doing what he could to keep Kim’s three bodyguards from getting to him. Youngjae looked back over his shoulder, past Himchan, who was trying to steady Jongup. He could use the chaos as a cover to run.

He looked back again to see Daehyun kick the gun out of Kim’s hand and scramble to his feet. The man shouted out in pain, probably––hopefully––taking a few broken fingers. The weapon skittered away, toward Yongguk, who Youngjae was quite honestly surprised to see still standing, considering the fact that he was engaged with three people who were probably trained in combat. But he was fast, dodging and distracting them, and they didn’t seem to have any weapons besides their own fists, either, which was certainly helping. Daehyun was struggling to get Kim off of Junhong, taking a few hits to the face.

He looked over his shoulder again. God, but he was so close. Himchan was clearly panicking, undoubtedly wanting to go help Junhong, but also not willing to leave Jongup, who looked a couple steps from collapsing.

Knife in hand, Youngjae broke into a run. He needed to stop thinking so much.

 

 

 

Jongup’s legs weren’t working right. He was wobbly and stumbling all over the place, exhausted. Amidst the chaos, he could hear Himchan telling him to go, to run and leave them because they had done all of this for his freedom and goddammit if he didn’t make it out for all this trouble. Well, he said something along those lines. But Jongup couldn’t move. Everything was hurting and he feared he had pushed himself too hard before, foolishly turning down help from the others for the sake of his pride. And now everything was just… kind of fuzzy. Everybody around him seemed to slow down, and the walls of rock surrounding them started to close in. There was little more his body could do than stumble far enough so that he could brace himself against the wall. But the first step he took past that sent him to the ground, where he stayed and continued to think about how stupid he was for refusing to take a break or hold onto someone’s arm or something before. Now he felt like he could collapse and sleep for days.

With a grunt muffled to his own ears, Jongup pushed himself halfway back up, hands grappling for purchase, but instead of landing on hard, solid rock, his fingers sunk into something dry and gravel-like. He pushed aside some of the smaller chunks and immediately dug into the earth––it was dirt. Real, thick, damp earth. Jongup blinked at the sight before directing his eyes up again. The light hadn’t just been his imagination; they were closer than he had thought. Suddenly a powerful surge of need to _get out_ flew through him, and he scrambled to the wall of the cave to press his palm against it. The rock was cool and seemed slippery, now. He couldn’t quite make out any colors––not like there had been many to make out in Equidem––but something at the crevice where the wall of the cave met the floor looked black, darker than the rock around it. When his fingers sank into something soft and damp, he inhaled sharply.

And then the cold left him, and he dug his fingers deeper into the moss, nearly ripping it right out of the ground as his senses dialed to eleven and left him gasping for breath. Suddenly there was too much input to his brain, everything he had been used to constantly having at his fingertips flooding back in too fast, a wave of powerful energy.

It felt like the ground was shaking under him. He didn’t realize that that it actually was until he looked back up to see the others stumbling around in a bit of a panic. He didn’t have time to be surprised that Youngjae was helping Junhong to his feet, but he would most definitely save it for later. Both of them fell, nearly on top of each other. Jongup squinted, the waves of energy making it difficult to really get ahold of his senses, as Junhong moved slowly to get back to his feet, one hand pressed to the side of his head. Youngjae braced himself on the ground, palms planted firmly amongst the shifty rocks. He coughed heavily, bits of debris dusting his hair. But Jongup saw his eyes land on Daehyun, and then he pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as he tried to run and keep his balance on the shifting earth.

Vision tipping back and forth, Jongup looked back in front just in time to see a fissure travel up the side of the wall beside him and across the ceiling, shaking a rather large rock loose. Suddenly everything turned chaotic, and he could barely focus on even one person for more than a second. Dozens of bats––all squeaking and flapping crazily––navigated their way through the falling debris, a few getting crushed beneath larger bits, but Daehyun couldn’t move with such agility, and Jongup was sure that if Youngjae had reached him any later, hadn’t shoved him forward hard enough, the rock that broke over his shoulder would have killed him.

 

Jongup could feel his compass again. They were only a little ways from the mouth of the cave, which led directly into the forest. If he could just––

A loud crack interrupted his thoughts, and he quickly got back up to his knees to turn around, realizing he was the closest of them all to the exit. Youngjae was following Daehyun as he made his way closer to Jongup, and Himchan was helping Junhong, only a few feet behind them. Jongup couldn’t see the man who had been holding onto Junhong before, and Kim Hyunshik was struggling to stand, himself, much farther back.

A larger piece of rock crashed down in front of Youngjae, who didn’t have enough time to change his pace, and he tripped over it, falling down hard, still quite a ways back. Jongup could only watch the panic behind him, his breathing heavy and loud in his already-ringing ears as he tried to keep the black from creeping into his vision. It skirted just around the edges, and his head grew light, as if his soul was being lifted slightly from his body. Another jolt shot through him, leaving him completely breathless, and he couldn’t tell if the sound he heard after was from more rocks or his skull cracking against the ground.

All he could hear was a quiet, high-pitched ringing in his ears and his vision started to double; he was losing control. He had never ever actually witnessed somebody losing control of their magic, but it was a well-known hazard, and most occurrences could be blamed on either overwhelming emotions or life-threatening situations. He couldn’t let this happen. Mages who lost control of their magic could trigger natural disasters. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, tornadoes––anything of their element. And they were called disasters for a reason.

No, he wouldn’t lose his grip. It was just such a sudden rush of magic after being without it for a few days. All he had to do was reign it in. Was he even capable of that? He would have to be.

So he closed his eyes to eliminate the chaos his vision was giving to him, and lifted his head a bit to breathe in air that wasn’t full of dust. His entire nervous system was buzzing against his bones.

The first thing Jongup had learned when he had first started using his magic was control. The dangers of losing it, of letting go, had been drilled into his mind from the very start. People have died to rogue magic before, and Jongup was absolutely terrified that he might have already caused someone to get hurt. Even without magic he had caused people to get hurt. Junhong and Himchan had practically given up their lives for him, and now Junhong was in handcuffs, and had nearly been killed by Kim Hyunshik after saving the life of the man whose head he had the gun pressed to.

Junhong had just almost died, and it was Jongup’s fault. And now everybody was dodging rocks left and right for their lives, and, no, he wouldn’t let anybody else get hurt.

 _Get a grip,_ he heard his mother say. _If you kill even one more flower you won’t get your books back for another week._

And that was all it took, the memory of his mother’s stern frown, and of himself, a child, being taught to only take limited amounts of energy from the flora around him. He had practically killed their entire back garden trying to practice.

One more loud crack made its way past the ringing in his ears, and then all Jongup could hear was the quiet. He took a few deep breaths as he reigned himself in, and opened his eyes, sitting back up. There was dust settling everywhere, fogging his view, but there was still enough light from the nearby exit to see that, only a small distance away from him, there was a wall that hadn’t been there before, blocking off the rest of the cave. Dread filled his stomach as he looked around frantically, pushed himself to his feet and spun around a few times. There was no joy for the fact that he had made it back to the surface, because as far as he could see in the dim, dark light, there was nothing but dust around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's the last chapter! There's a postface/preview of part 2 coming very soon! I'll be gone from August 1-4, but hopefully I'll get that up for you guys before I leave. Maybe the completion of this will even land on my birthday––that would be special :)
> 
> I'm so hecking excited to finally post this!! I wrote a huge portion of it that got deleted, and I had to re-write it, which was really hard and frustrating, but I did it! I'm looking forward to seeing all of your reactions! soooo many things happened in this chapter, and I'm pretty sure it's the longest one so far :D  
> there are a lot of things to be confused about at the moment, so don't worry if it feels like some stuff doesn't make sense yet; it will.  
>  
> 
> I really want to thank those of you who have stuck with this whole thing, and I honestly can't believe I actually finished it, AND planned a sequel?? Who have I become! Thank you for leaving comments and being patient with me sometimes. This was honestly an idea that I almost totally scrapped, but then I had an 11-hour flight to Japan, brought a notebook, and outlined an entire story. And then I… wrote it? The whole thing?
> 
> I hope everything in this chapter was clear. It's so hard for me to tell because I spend so much time with it––it's really all just a blur to me XD


	11. Postface

**Postface**

**November 21 st 5692**

Jongup tripped and scrambled backwards on the grass, before his back hit the trunk of a tree. He sat, panting crazily, and watched as dust continued to float up from the mouth of the cave. His fingers clenched around thick tufts of grass, which were cool against his palms, but his eyes stayed trained ahead. A light breeze ruffled his hair.

The nurse––Daehyun, that was his name––knelt on the ground nearby, coughing heavily with a hand over his chest. Jongup looked around, but he didn't see anybody else. He couldn't hear much over the sound of Daehyun's hacking coughs, either.

Where was everyone else?

He gave a few dry coughs himself, much quieter than Daehyun's, which had yet to stop, though they were slowly fizzling out. Daehyun remained on his hands and knees, struggling to even out his breathing. Jongup could see that his arms were shaking, and he wasn't putting any weight on his right side.

Jongup stood, wobbling for a second before regaining his balance, and ran back toward the cave, though his movements were more like fast stumbling. He propped one hand against the side of the rock face, and took a deep breath before ducking back inside. It was dark inside, but the light from outside was enough. He didn't make it far, anyway. Only a small distance into the passage he ran into a wall that hadn't been there before.

Jongup walked slowly from one end of the wall to the other, feeling along the side with his hands. The surface of it wasn't smooth; it wasn't even a wall, really––it was a pile of rocks. It was a cave-in. When the earth had started shaking before––had that been Jongup's magic? The shocks had been far too powerful for anything he was capable of. There was no way. But Jongup couldn't deny he had been able to feel it, the chaos and the way the walls of the cave shifted and shook around them. The way the tunnel’s path had been blocked off, the ceiling-high pile of rocks that now separated him from the others.

Had he  _strengthened an earthquake?_  Or… started one? There was some connection, that he was sure of, but puzzling over it was going to have to wait.

Just as he made it to the opposite wall of the cave, Jongup tripped over something. He fell, but caught himself with his hands, which landed on something far less… cave-like than he had been expecting. As if he'd really had the time to contemplate the texture of the surface his hands were moving toward as he fell.

It was darker over here; one of the other slabs of earth that wound toward the exit was protruding to form a sort of corner, and cast the ground in shadow. Jongup balanced himself on his knees, and felt around in front of him. His hands scraped hard rock briefly before coming in contact with something soft; the same thing he had landed on. This time, he took a moment to notice that the surface was moving gently under his hands, breathing. His heart skipped as he registered that someone was lying right before him, but Jongup couldn't make anything out of the shadows shrouding the large, dark corner.

He slid his hands up farther, tracing carefully as he came into contact with skin, a face… but no response. Whoever it was, they were probably injured. Well aware of the fact that he could barely even carry his own weight, Jongup noted the location in his head and made his way back outside. He crashed right into Daehyun, who was back on his feet, glancing around wildly. He reached out absentmindedly to Jongup, hands on his shoulders, but Jongup’s momentum sent him straight into Daehyun’s arms. They barely took even a moment to look at each other, but Jongup could see that Daehyun was coated in a thick layer of dust, and surely he was, too. But that didn't matter. Under any other circumstance, Jongup probably would have found it in himself to shove Daehyun off, knowing all too well that he was the one who had taken his voice away from him. But somebody else in there needed help, and Jongup wasn't going to risk leaving them in there for even a second longer. He grabbed Daehyun's wrist, instead, and dragged him back into the cave.

Daehyun yelped, but didn't resist. "Wait," he said. But nothing else followed the command, so Jongup did not. He tightened his grip and ran his other hand along the side of the cave to keep his own balance. Farther inside, he pulled Daehyun down to crouch beside the person on the ground, and led his hand to the man's chest. Daehyun tried to step back, but Jongup snatched his wrist and quickly pulled him back into the cave.

Daehyun didn’t protest as Jongup tugged him along, and when Jongup showed him what––who––he had found, he immediately helped Jongup get him outside, holding most of the weight himself before carefully placing him on the ground.

"Is––is there anyone else? Was he the only one in there?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Jongup shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He didn't know. As Daehyun sprinted back into the cave, Jongup tried to pull the other man as gently as possible––his back to Jongup's chest, legs dragging on the grass––and prop him up against a large tree, carefully making sure he wouldn't fall over or anything.

Jongup noticed that one of his hands was covered in quickly-forming bruises, and he reached out to lift one up to inspect. He pressed around his fingers and felt for anything that could potentially be problematic. Nothing seemed to be broken, but he knew that those bruises would last a long time.

 After making sure there were no serious injuries, Jongup stood again––ignoring the wave of lightheadedness that swept through his head––and joined Daehyun back in the cave. They had to keep looking––they had to check every corner.

 

Jongup dug through the rubble. There was only one word going through his head, over and over again because he had to find him. Who would he be to leave behind a man who had sacrificed everything he had for someone he didn’t know?

Jongup had watched the light in his eyes ignite and grow over the two days they had spent together, more and more hopeful with every passing hour for something he couldn’t even name.

This was all wrong. Himchan was supposed to be here––he was supposed to be with him. He had left his entire life behind for Jongup. If it hadn't been for him and Junhong, he'd be as good as gone.

Jongup knew that the cave hadn't collapsed completely, his internal compass could sense a ways inside, though he did lose range rather quickly. He knew that the most likely scenario was that the others were just on the other side.  _Just._ It would be impossible to get back through without some sort of machine. Even if he could get to them, he wasn't sure it would be the best idea, considering who exactly would be over there  _with_  his friends. There was no way they could all make it to safety if that man was there. Jongup figured Kim probably had some sort of machine that could destroy the rock wall, and it probably wouldn't be long before he followed them. They needed to get away without leaving a trail. He would get lost and give up.

A chunk of rock slipped loose and landed in front of him, forcing dust into the air and at his face. Jongup coughed dryly, closing his mouth to keep more of the particles from getting down his throat. Shakily he pushed himself to his feet, following the light and quickly running the rest of the way out of the cave, Daehyun right behind him, empty handed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, we've got two identified outdoor crew members! Maybe you can guess who the third is they found… but I won't be telling you! I suppose you'll have to wait in suspense until I start posting part two. Why am I keeping his identity a secret, you ask? Good question. :D Get pumped for some… eventful camping? um.
> 
> Sad to split up our adventurers, but that's what makes for the adventure part, isn't it? I guess we'll see who's stuck where and with whom next time. I have things planned!!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you'll tell me what you think. <3 And I hope you'll all look forward to part two: "Ad Altiorem."
> 
>  
> 
> Quick note: the sequel is going to be rated M for violence, murder, language, and all that. It's gonna be, um, darker at some points than this was.

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize the title of this, you're probably wondering what's going on-- kind of. To be brief, I decided I would actually plan this story out and not just randomly write, because I am a writer of High Quality.  
> This is a restart, essentially, and I really hope you guys like it. This will be longer than most of the stuff I write. At the moment I'm shooting for 6 or 7 chapters, each around 5K words, hopefully.
> 
> please give me feedback if you can. it's what keeps me writing on here :)
> 
> oh, and this is a series; there will be two parts total.


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